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THE 


Saddest of all is Loting. 


MRS. 


BY 

/ 

LOU. MONTGOMERY SALE, 

ft 

AUTHOR OF “ KENNETH RAYMOND,” ETC. 


** He that writes 

Or makes a feast, more certainly invites 
His judges than his friends ; there’s not a guest 
But will .find something wanting, or ill-drest.” 

—Sir R. Howard. 



NEW YORK : 


THE AUTHORS’ PUBLISHING COMPANY, 

Bond Street. 


(i m) 
r 


N 


-f-Z.? 


5 


Copyright, 1880, 

By The Authors’ Publishing Company, 
New York. 


HON. W. M. ROBBINS, 

OF STATESVILLE, N. C., 

THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 


BY THE AUTHOR, 






THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


CHAPTER L 

In a room of a dreary-looking convent, situated in a 
small town in one of the rural districts of Pennsylvania, 
sat a refined, sad-faced woman (past her youth) absorbed 
in reading. It was towards the close of a hot day of the 
waning summer, but in Sister Florine’s apartment, the dim, 
quiet coolness contrasted pleasantly with the outside heat 
and glare, while the fresh, vivid green of the carefully 
tended plants that filled and shaded the low windows, and. 
were grouped prettily on rustic stands about the room, was 
truly refreshing to the eye, wearied for long weeks with the 
parched earth and drooping vegetation withering under a 
scorching August sun. 

Presently the quiet was broken by the entrance of a 
young girl — apparently about seventeen years of age — so 
iarely beautiful, that you almost held your breath as you 
gazed, with much the same feeling one would have when 
viewing for the first time, the Flora of Titian, of which 
Grace Greenwood says, “ Its soft, sunny, luxurious loveli- 
ness, filled my soul with a strange and passionate delight.” 

And such “soft, sunny, luxurious loveliness” had Nel- 
lie Stacey, who, throwing herself on a hassock at the sis- 
ter’s feet", said passionately, while angry tears dimmed the 
dark lustrous eyes, “I will never go to confession again.” 


6 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ Why, Nellie ! what is the matter ?” asked Sister Flo- 
rine, looking up from her book with surprise at the usually 
gentle, sweet-tempered girl. 

“ Dear sister, I think it is right that I should tell you 
(for I have begged him to desist, and he will not), that 
Father Laurence talks to me as he ought not to do ; and I 
don’t see anv use in confession anyway,” replied the indig- 
nant Nellie. 

“ My child ! that is wrong — but what did the father say 
to offend you ? ” 

“ He is always calling me a sweet sinner, and saying I 
am too pretty to do wrong, and asking me to kiss him — and 
-^and various other things,” said the girl, reluctant to ac- 
cuse one whom Sister Florine held in such reverence. 

“ Well, my dear, the holy father only wishes to encour- 
age you to be as good as you are lovely, perhaps ; I see no 
great harm in that,” returned the sister, fondly smoothing 
the jetty waves of hair from the low brow, where it lay in 
damp, curling rings, around the sweet, flushed face of the 
young girl. 

“ But, sister, I see I shall have to tell you everything, to 
make you understand. Father Laurence makes love to me 
every time I go to confession ; he has even asked me to 
marry him — to elope with him ; says I am dearer to him 
than his holy office of priest — dearer than his hopes of 
heaven — and all such nonsense ; and he at the same time, 
threatens me with terrible punishment, if I tell — but I can 
endure it no longer, and I cannot go to him again.” 

“ And you shall not, child ! Why did you not tell me 
this before ! How long has it been going on ?” exclaimed 
Sister Florine, shocked beyond measure at Nellie’s revela 
tions. 

“ For some time — in fact, soon after he came he began 
to make pretty speeches to me, but has been getting mor& 
bold in his avowals of love, until I thought it my duty t& 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


7 


tell you, and refuse to give him any further opportunity. 
Oh, I almost hate him, sister ! How different he is from 
dear, good Father Ambrose !” 

“Yes, yes ! but who would have believed this of him ? 
he, a priest, and guide of the young in the paths of right- 
eousness and truth ! What shall I do ? I must tell the 
mother, and have this wolf in sheep’s clothing removed. 
Oh ! it is awful to think of the danger you have been ex- 
posed to, my poor lamb ! ” and the sister shuddered as she 
thought of what “ might have been,” had her dear Nellie 
been beguiled by the false, wicked priest. 

“But, sister, Mother Serena will not believe it — she 
hates me so much, she would be sure to say it was a 
trumped-up story, born in my fertile imagination, and at 
once empty the vials of her wrath on my devoted head for 
daring to malign a priest ! No, sister, please do not tell 
her — only let me go away — help me to go away from this 
hateful place, and that horrid priest — will you not ? ” 
pleaded Nellie. 

“'Where would you go, child? Your guardian is a 
myth — your relatives, your very birthplace, unknown to 
you — where would you go ? ” 

“ Let me answer that advertisement we Saw in the Bal- 
timore Gazette. I have been thinking so much of it, and 
had decided, with your permission, to apply for the situa- 
tion ; may I not, dear sister ?” asked Nellie, eagerly. 

“ What is it, dear ? Let me see it again ; I did not pay 
much heed, thinking it a whim you would soon forget, per- 
haps,” said Sister Florine. 

“No, indeed ; I was in earnest when I spoke of it be- 
fore, and still more in earnest now — see, I put it carefully 
away in my drawer,” returned Nellie, as she took the paper 
from its safe hiding-place ; “ let me read it.” 

“ •' Wanted. — A governess, for two small children, in a 
healthy locality, near a village. Duties light, and a liberal 


8 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


salary. Address — Mrs. Howard Hamilton, Baltimore, or 
Major Walter Stacey, Clinton, Ga.” 

44 Oh ! I do hope it is Major Stacey who wants a gov- 
erness, for I should so like to go South ! ” exclaimed Nellie, 
as she finished reading the advertisement — and before Sister 
Florine had time to make any comment — 44 and he may be 
a relation ; was I not born at the South, sister ? ” 

44 1 do not know, my dear ; you were here when I came, 
you know, and the mother has always refused to tell me 
your birthplace, and the name of your guardian. But I 
cannot help thinking you were born beneath a Southern 
sky, my impulsive, Avarm-hearted Nellie ! ” 

44 Oh, I do hope it is true; and if so, dear sister, it is 
only another reason why I should apply for this situation, 
for it may lead to my finding out something of my family 
and birthplace. And you must acknowledge it is rather 
strange, the coincidence of names — do, do say, dear sister, 
that I may try,” pleaded the girl, as she kneeled at the sis- 
ter’s side, and looked up beseechingly into the sad, tender 
eyes, that had never held aught for her, in their placid 
depths, but loving glances. 

44 Stacey is rather a common name, my dear ; don’t 
build hopes on so slight a foundation ; besides, what will 
the mother say ? Her consent is much more important 
than mine, and I feel sure she will oppose such a step,” re- 
plied Sister Florine. 

44 She need not know it until it is all arranged,” urged 
Nellie ; 44 you can make the application for me — she does 
not read your letters. Please, dear sister, I am so misera- 
ble here ! ” And the young girl leaned her head on the 
bosom of her only friend, and wept, as she thought of her 
lonely life, and the mystery that enshrouded it. 

44 Child ! you are so young to go out alone into the 
world; and yet dangers beset you even here, and I am pow- 
erless to protect you ! Let me tell the mother, she surely 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. v 9 

would not wish that bad man to remain — and then you will 
be content to wait, my dear, until your guardian comes for 
you — will you not ?” 

“ No, oh no ! he will never come ; and I do not care to 
see him, after neglecting me all these years. *Let me go, 
sister, I am so weary of the monotony of this place, and I 
must go away from — that — man,” reiterated Nellie, be- 
tween her sobs. 

“ Well, well, hush, my dear ! I will write the letter, and 
then see what I can do with the mother. Dry your tears, 
and may you never shed any more bitter in the world after 
which you long,” said Sister Florine, soothingly. 

“ Thank you, my dear, my only friend ! You are all I 
have to love in this gloomy place since dear Father Ambrose 
died — to you I owe every moment of brightness my life has 
known, and I shall grieve to part with you, but let me go 
out into the bright world, and find happiness ; here, every- 
thing is repugnant to my joyous nature, and I pine for free- 
dom, like an imprisoned bird ! ” 

“I fear, my child, your bright anticipations will never 
be realized ; I know the world, you imagine so full of joy 
and happiness — even there, trouble and disappointment — 
how bitter, may you never experience — came to me ; and I 
was glad to retire with my wounded heart, for healing and 
consolation, in solitude, and the service of Him, who alone 
is true,” said Sister Florine, sadly. 

“Oh, sister ! have you, so good, so unselfish, known 
such bitter sorrow ?” Nellie says, with tender sympathy. 
“ Surely such will not be my fate !” 

I pray God and our Sweet Mother, it may not be, my 
child ! Few have such trials as I have endured ; still, do 
not look for unalloyed happiness, it is not found in this 
world. But I will not dampen, perhaps needlessly, your 
bright hopes ; bring my desk, and I will write at once.” 

“Please sister, only mention my first, and middle name; 


10 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


I have a fancy to be known simply as Elenor Fane , until I 
know what right I have to the name of Stacey. You know 
my full name is. Elenora Fane Stacey, so I will not change, 
but only suppress, apart of it,” said Nellie, laughing at her 
own conceit. Poor child ! little did she imagine how dearly 
this innocent suppression would cost her ! “ I do not wish 

that mythical guardian of mine to discover my where- 
abouts (he keeps me so much in the dark, why should I not 
be equally mysterious ?) as I fear he might take measures 
to compel my return, he, and the mother, to these prison 
walls. So I will just give them, ‘this Roland for their 
Oliver,’ as your say.” 

Sister Florine smiled, as she replied, “ I do not like 
sailing under false colors, my dear, but under the circum- 
stances, I cannot blame you, for your guardian and Mother 
Serena are treating you shamefully, in thus keeping you 
in ignorance of all that concerns your past and future, and 
I feel justified in doing all I can to thwart their schemes, 
which I fear are not what they should be, in regard to you.” 

“ Oh, thank you, my dear, good sister ! I shall feel like 
a new being — poor little Nellie Stacey remains in the ob- 
scurity to which they have doomed her, and Elenor Fane 
goes forth into the world to conquer fate, hopeful and 
happy !” And Nellie clapped her hands, and waltzed 
around Sister Florine, in the exuberance of her joy at the 
bare idea of escape from her dull life in the convent. 

“ Do not be too sanguine, my dear, you have not secured 
the situation yet,” said Sister Florine, smiling in spite of 
herself, at Nellie’s undignified, though not ungraceful man- 
ner of showing her delight. “ But I will write to Mrs. 
Howard Hamilton, for her husband is a dear cousin of mine 
and has hardly forgotten, I guess, the Eveline Howard of 
those old happy days, when we knew and loved each other.” 

“ What a beautiful name you had in the world, sister ; I 
could not have given it up. Will you not tell me the story 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


11 


of your life before you entered the convent, mon amie f n 
asked Nellie, as she again seated herself, forgetful for the 
moment, of the all-important letter, in her desire to learn 
something of Sister Florine’s earlier life. 

“ Not now, child, sometime perhaps before we part ; let 
me write, or my letter will be too late for the mail.” 

* * * * * * * 

Mrs. Hamilton replied without delay, saying she would 
at once engage Miss Fane, upon her cousin’s recommenda- 
tion, as her brother, Major Stacey, had left it entirely to 
her to secure a governess for his children. She mentioned 
amount of salary (which was liberal enough to satisfy Sis- 
ter Florine — it was of minor importance to Nellie), and also 
suggested that they write to her brother, and learn the time 
he wished Miss Fane to enter on her duties, and elicit any 
other information they desired, adding, “ My husband 
sends kindest love and remembrance to his ‘ cousin Evie/ 
and hopes you will consent very soon to make us a visit, in 
which desire I heartily join. We are truly glad to hear 
from you once more, and regret your retirement from so- 
ciety, where you once shone pre-eminent.” 

Sister Florine and the mother had a stormy interview ; 
the latter angrily refusing her consent to the contemplated 
step. “ Well,” said Sister Florine, she is determined to 
go ; everything has been arranged, and I do not think 
Nellie owes obedience to you, and a guardian who keeps 
her in ignorance of the most important events and inter- 
ests of her life — all of which she has a right to know, at 
her age. Tell her who her guardian is— give her his ad- 
dress, and she will write and ask his consent to the ar- 
rangement — she is anxious to do so.” 

I will not — he does not wish to be known at present, 
as I have told you before. Let her go, if she will ; I wash 
my hands of her, and shall write to inform her guardian 
that she has left my care and the convent, in defiance of 


12 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


mv wishes or consent.” But she really had no such inten- 
tion, as the sequel will show. 

“ Very well,” returned Sister Florine, as she rose to 
leave the" room, “ I will take all the responsibility ; and 
when her guardian comes (which he has little idea of 
doing, it seems), I will satisfy him in regard to the matter. 
She shall go — and I will stand between her and all danger 
from him or anyone else,” and with this Sister Florine 
left the room, and the obstinate woman — more excited and 
provoked than she had been for years. Mother Serena 
noted her words and manner, and could not help a slight 
feeling of uneasiness ; for Sister Florine was the only 
being of whom the imperious mother stood a little in awe 
(and who dared defy her), knowing that under that placid 
exterior 'there was a will strong as her own. She also 
knew the value of Sister Florine’s vast wealth to the con- 
vent — the control of which, however, she wisely kept in 
her own hands ; as she did the liberty to withdraw herself 
from its walls at her pleasure. 

Sister Florine had always loved the beautiful and lonely 
child from the first, and had made her -life much less hard 
since she came ; and as Nellie developed into the interest- 
ing girl, her love had grown and strengthened, until she 
trembled to cherish such feelings again for any earthly 
being. And Nellie clung to the sad, gentle sister with a 
passionate affection, that, since Father Ambrose’s death, 
had been all lavished on this one, only friend, who kept 
life from being a Sahara to her youthful feet, with no foun- 
tain at which to slake the thirsting of her longing heart 
for the sweet waters of affection. 

It was a great trial to Sister Florine to give up her 
bright, pleasant companionship and caressing love, but she 
believed it best for Nellie, and her unselfish regard for the 
young girl, made her determine she should not be thwarted 
in her desire to leave the convent. And now, when this 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VING. 13 

new danger threatened her darling, she dared not hesitate, 
but was quite as anxious as Nellie, to get her safely away, 
for she knew the difficulties that would arise, as the girl 
had said, in bringing any charges against the priest — who 
seemed to be a man after the mother’s own heart — not 
being troubled with over-much righteousness. So the ‘good 
woman was soon busy in making additions to Nellie’s 
scanty wardrobe, until the young girl was* in raptures, 
which was quite natural, for the mother had always kept 
her in the very plainest and scantiest of clothing, and 
Sister Plorine had not thought it necessary in the seclu- 
sion of the convent, and school-girl life, to add more at- 
tractive dress, though in a thousand other ways Nellie had 
already received much at the hands of her loving benefac- 
tress. Indeed, it was a kind Providence that sent to the 
neglected little orphan the tender care and protection 
of this refined and cultivated woman ; and the influence 
she had exerted in the formation of Nellie’s character, 
was quite apparent. She had spared no pains to improve 
her naturally fine mind, and besides the regular course of 
study pursued in the convent, had read with, and to her, 
such books as were improving ; and by conversation on 
lighter topics, supplied the lack of intercourse with polite 
society. So that Nellie was quite as accomplished, pol- 
ished, and self-possessed as if she had been under training 
at a so-called fashionable boarding-school, and yet lacked 
nothing of the modest charm and naturalness which is so 
apt to be lost in the modelling of a fashionable young 
lady. 

Major Stacey named the 1st of October as the time 
he wished Nellie to enter on her duties, but added, “ Miss 
Pane had better come a week or so earlier, to explore 
her surroundings, and feel at home ; and the day of her 
departure was drawing very near, but not too fast for 
Nellie, who was all impatience to be gone. Poor girl ! 


14 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


could she have known under what circumstances she would 
return to Sister Florine’s loving arms, she would no doubt, 
have retreated to the gloomiest corner of those hated 
walls, and shut and barred, with eager hand, the door 
through which she was about to go out into the fair and 
beautiful world, and dashed to earth the sparkling cup 
of hope and happiness she saw, in imagination, held tempt- 
ingly near her outstretched hand and longing lips ! 

Sister Florine had added to her many other gifts, a 
beautiful writing-desk ; and the night before her departure, 
Nellie sat with it on her lap, examining and admiring, for 
the twentieth time perhaps, its handsome appointments, 
and delicate stationery. 

4 4 0, Sister Florine" !” she exclaimed presently, as though 
impelled to give expression to the thoughts and emotions 
that filled her heart, 44 how can I ever repay you for all 
your goodness to a poor, lonely orphan ; and added to 
all, the crowning acts of the last fetv weeks !” The quick 
tears sprang to the lovely dark eyes, and putting down 
the desk, she knelt by the sister’s side, and twining her 
arms lovingly around her, Wept convulsively. For now, 
as she realized that she was parting with her only friend, 
the thought came over her — 4 ‘ Shall I ever find such 
another in the world to which I am going alone and 
friendless ? Gan anything repay me for her loss ?” And 
she said aloud, 44 How I wish you were going with me, 
dearest ! my heart fails me, as the time draws hear to leave 
you, and I am almost tempted to give it all up.” 

44 No, no, too late to repent now, my dear ; you should 
have counted the Cost before— cheer up ! it is best so : 
the parting will not be long, and will only make our re- 
union dearer and sweeter,” said Sister Florine, cheerfully 
(though her own heart was very sad), as she bent and 
kissed the beautiful tear-stained face. 44 And, my child, 
you can more than repay me for all I have done^ by ful- 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


15 


filling the promise of your girlhood — I ask no more. Learn 
to look to the only true Source for strength and guidance ; 
let not your beauty prove a snare, but remember it is 
nothing without the more enduring beauty of the soul 
and graces of the heart, that sanctify and ennoble mere 
personal loveliness — in other words, neglect not the prec- 
ious jewel, in your care for the frail and perishing casket 
that enshrines it.” 

“I will try, my more than mother, to be all you so 
fondly hope : pray for your little Nellie, and that will be 
my greatest safeguard, to remember there is one true, 
loving heart that i3 watching my career, and will rejoice 
or grieve, as I succeed or fail in my endeavors to grow into 
a noble and useful woman. Now, dear sister, tell me 
something of your own life, as you promised, that I may 
gain wisdom from your experience, and be warned of the 
dangers at which you hint.” 

Sister Florine had observed with great pleasure how, 
in the past weeks, the thoughtless girl had merged into 
the more thoughtful and dignified woman, who was fast 
adjusting herself to the new position she was to fill, her 
self-reliance developing in view of the responsibilities she 
was about to assume ; but she thought a recital of her 
own trials might further benefit Nellie, and temper her 
too sanguine expectations of happiness : so she replied, “ I 
will try, my dear, but fear I shall weary you.” 

“ Oh no, do tell me ! it is not late, and I am too ex- 
cited to sleep anyway.” 

******* 

“ Be sure to write Nellie, as soon as you reach the end 
of your journey, for I shall feel very anxious about you, 
darling,” said Sister Florine, the next morning, as they 
drove to the station, “Mr. Mortimer, under whose care, 
you know, I have placed you, will meet us at the depot ; 


16 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING . 


you will be perfectly safe, until he delivers you over to 
Major Stacey.” 

“ DonH forget my new name, when you introduce me,” 
whispered Nellie, “and be sure to direct your letters to 
Elenor Fane” 


CHAPTER II. 

“ Hugh, when are you going to Roselawn ? I have 
never known you delay so long before ; and they will think 
it very strange. I told Ada what day you were coming, so 
she is not ignorant of your arrival ; you certainly find an 
unusual attraction here, or are very indifferent to the 
claims of old friends upon you,” said Mrs. Walter Stacey, 
to her brother, Hugh Legare, as they lingered in the cosy 
breakfast-room, after the rest of the household had left it. 

“There certainly is an ‘ unusual attraction/ Lily, in 
the person of your beautiful governess ; but really, I "have 
been remiss without intending it, for it is so very" pleasant 
to be at home once more, I have yielded to the charm, 
ignoring all other claims, but I will go at once ; have you 
any commands ?” asked the young man, rising as he spoke, 
and stroking the head of a beautiful greyhound, that had 
also risen from his after-breakfast nap before the fire, and 
was looking up with evident expectancy into Hugh’s face. 
“You may go with me, old fellow,” he said to the "dog, who 
seemed to understand, and curled himself up again on the 
rug, to await his master’s movements. 

“ Yes ; you may tell Ada I shall count on her cer- 
tainly, to aid me in making your Christmas festival a suc- 
cess so she can be getting up her most bewitching cos- 
tume,” replied his sister. 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


17 


“I thought your friend needed not the foreign aid of 
ornament, in your eyes,” returned her brother. 

“ Neither does she ; but one must dress, since our fool- 
ish mother ate the apple, so One had as well dress becom- 
ingly — though Ada would look charming attired in fig- 
leaves.” 

“ Suppose you suggest that she grace the occasion in 
that primitive costume ; no doubt she would attract more 
attention than in one of Worth’s latest, and that is the 
object at which your sex aim, in their extravagant and 
often ridiculous, adornment,” retorted Hugh. 

“ Now you are ridiculous ; do go, and — stop ! tell Ada 
I shall need her good taste, in the decoration of my rooms ; 
and she and May must come over the day before the party ; 
now, don’t forget !” 

“Not if I can help it, but you know my failing, so 
don’t count on your messages being delivered verbatim — I 
will be back to dinner.” 

Mrs. Stacey sat lost in thought for some time after her 
brother had gone, and her reflections were not comforting ; 
for though she was attached to her governess, and had 
admired her greatly from the first, it was no part of her 
plan that she should prove a rival to her special friend and 
favorite, Ada Singleton. And Hugh’s involuntary glances 
of admiration from the moment he met Miss Fane, had 
aroused a feeling of uneasiness, which his recently avowed 
opinion in regard to her beauty, did not tend to lessen, 
and well might she be troubled. Few men could look 
unmoved on such beauty as was the dangerous dower of 
Elenor Fane — who, in the few months she had been in the 
South, seemed to have bloomed into new and more perfect 
loveliness, like some rare flower transplanted to a more 
genial soil beneath softer skies. Her dark, dreamy eyes, 
held you spellbound searching their unfathomed depths, 
the crisp waves of jetty hair shaded the low brow (so 


18 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


lovely in a woman), and made the creamy, olive complex- 
ion seem almost fair, by contrast — the delicately chiselled 
nose was perfect. There was no color, save in the exquisite 
lips, that when they parted in her bright, child-like smile, 
disclosed teeth beautifully white and regular. Her figure 
was slight, but unusually developed and rounded for one 
so young, and to all was added a grace of movement, and 
charm of manner, peculiarly her own. 

He afe ' ' 4e Jfc H< * 

Aspendale, the plantation of Major Stacey, lay on the 
outskirts of the pretty little town of Clinton, Middle Geor- 
gia. The house was a quaint, but rather handsome build- 
ing, that had been the abode of the Legares for years. It 
had been remodelled and modernized by Mrs. Stacey’s father 
(who died soon after her marriage), and as Hugh would 
not consent to live at the old homestead, he requested, as 
his last wish, that she would still remain — for she was liv- 
ing with him at the time of his death — and keep it from 
passing into the hands of strangers. And it was really her 
dearest wish, for here had all her happy childhood and 
girlhood been passed. Here had Walter Stacey wooed and 
won her for his bride — here from her window she could see 
the white shafts, pointing heavenward, that marked the 
resting-places of her beloved dead — her dear parents, a 
sweet sister, and later, a lovely cherub boy, whose loss still 
cast a shadow over the household hearth. No, she could 
not have borne to give up the dear old place, with all its 
wealth of sweet and tender associations. The wide avenue 
of aged aspens — making a lovely shaded walk, with a broad 
sanded carriage-drive in the centre — had listened oft to the 
whispers of love, and trembled in unison to the caressing 
breeze. The present master of Aspendale was a genial high- 
toned Southern gentleman, evidently “ to the manner 
born.” He had fine black eyes, with abundant hair and 
whiskers of the same shade — was at least six feet in his 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


19 


boots, and altogether as fine a specimen of the genus homo 
as could be found in the State. Mrs. Stacey had been con- 
sidered, in her girlhood, a perfect type of blonde beauty ; 
and many thought her improved by that embonpoint which 
adds to the dignity, if not the beauty, of the matron. 
Maud and Walter, their only children, "and their govern- 
ess, made up the household. All was bustle and prepara- 
tion at Aspendale for the Christmas holidays — not alto- 
gether such as in ante bellum days, but Mrs. Stacey deter- 
mined it should be as much like the dear old times as 
possible. She had promised Hugh a party, as an addi- 
tional inducement — if he needed one — to leave the gayer 
city of Savannah, and pass the time with her. Hugh Le- 
gare might be considered by many persons to be a hand- 
somer man than his good brother-in-law, though hardly, I 
think, as fine looking. He was the exact counterpart of 
his sister, without being in the least degree effeminate, and 
his character was by no means of the inspired type, what- 
ever might be thought of his blonde beauty. In fact, he 
was a young man of strong and defined feelings and opin- 
ions — full of enthusiasm, ambition, and energy ; and I 
knew if he ever loved, it would be with corresponding fer- 
vor and devotion. That he never yet had acknowledged 
his grand capacity for loving satisfied, was evident ; but 
when he felt the soft glances of Elenor Fane’s dark eyes, 
he knew then as well as he knew each succeeding day, 
that he had found his soul’s queen. Hugh was working 
hard to make a name, as a lawyer, in Savannah, and if 
rumor was to be depended on, with considerable success. 
Mrs. Stacey had been both mother and sister to him, since 
their mother’s death, which occurred when Hugh was com- 
paratively a boy ; and he was her darling, her pride — her 
one only near relative living. And must her dearest wish 
for him be disappointed ? Her fears had been aroused and 
would not 14 down at her bidding meantime she was too 


20 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING . 


busy with her preparations to note all that might have con- 
firmed those fears. 

“ Well, Hugh, how are all at Roselawn ? and will Ada 
come and assist me in my decorations ? ” asked Mrs. Stacey, 
as her brother came in, after dinner was nearly over. 

“ All well, and Miss Ada will come with pleasure ; but 
the soup is cold,” replied Hugh, taking his seat opposite 
Elenor. 

“ Serve you right, if it is ; I thought punctuality one 
of the cardinal virtues with you,” returned his sister. 

“ So it is ; but I had delayed calling so long, I hoped 
to make amends by the length of my visit ; and I really 
enjoyed the time so much, it passed more quickly than I 
thought. Dr. Singleton was at home, and I always enjoy 
his society.” 

4 4 Of course, Mr. Legare, you did not enjoy Miss Ada’s 
company, we are to conclude,” said Elenor, with one of 
her irresistible smiles. 

“ Pardon me, I did not say so. Miss Fane ; but like 
your sex generally, you jump to conclusions too hastily,” 
smiled Hugh in return. “By the way, Lily, how May has 
grown, and so pretty, too ; she will soon be a young lady — 
I told her I should wait for her.” 

“ Hugh, you ought not to put foolish notions in that 
child’s head. May is very precocious, and as unlike Ada as 
it is possible for sisters to be,” said Mrs. Stacey. 

“Yes, she will be a much more brilliant and beautiful 
woman, though not a better one, I will admit,” returned 
Hugh. 

“No one could be that,” said Mrs. Stacey, ever ready 
to defend her favorite, “ and Ada is pretty enough, and 
very attractive, don’t you think so, Elenor ?” 

“ Indeed, I do ; I am much pleased with Miss Singleton, 
she is so unaffected and warm-hearted.” 

“ Certainly, she is all that ; though not so beautiful in 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 21 

mv eyes as in Lily’s,” returned Hugh. “ Miss Fane, shall 
we not take that ride this afternoon ? it is very pleasant 
out, and as you are anxious to learn, we had better take 
advantage of this fine weather. Lily, I think Miss Fane 
might venture to mount your mare, Lightfoot, with safetv, 
eh, Walter ?” 

6 6 Yes, I think her perfectly safe, or I should not let 
your sister ride her ; but you seem to take it for granted 
Miss Elenor will go, she has not said so yet,” replied Major 
Stacey. 

“ But she will, will you not, Miss Fane ?” asked Hugh, 
with an eagerness he could not conceal. 

‘•'Thank you, Mr. Legare, I should like very much to 
learn to ride, and if Mrs. Stacey does not want me to assist 
her, will go with pleasure.” 

“ No, Elenor, go, I shall rest this afternoon, but you 
should go at once, it is late now, and the afternoons are so 
short,” replied Mrs. Stacey. 

“ I fear, Mr. Legare, you will find me such a tyro in the 
equestrian art, you will regret having offered to be my cav- 
alier.” 

“Never fear, I have had more disagreeable duties to 
perform, I assure you ; but I will order the horses, while 
you don your riding-habit.” 

“I shall have to improvise one, for the occasion, as this 
is my first attempt in that line, unless Mrs. Stacey can help 
me out from her wardrobe,” replied Elenor, as Hugh left 
the room. 

“You are very welcome, Elenor ; tell Betty to bring you 
what I have, and make your own selection ; they are rather 
old-fashioned, and not very extensive, as I have almost given 
up horseback riding of late.” 

“Much to my regret, and your own injury, Lily; I wish 
you would resume the exercise, now that you will have a 
companion, in Miss Elenor,” urged Major Stacey. “ Lily,” 


22 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


he said a little later, when they were alone, “ I think Hugh 
is decidedly impressed, I have never seen him so interested 
in a woman before, not even your friend Ada.” 

“0, Walter! don’t say so, you are confirming what I 
hoped was only my jaundiced imagination ; if I should be 
disappointed in my cherished wish regarding him and Ada, 
I shall be sorry Eienor Fane ever set foot in this house,” 
said Mrs. Stacy, with much feeling. 

“ My dear, you are wrong, we can never know what is 
for the best ; and I am sure, it is not so dreadful to think 
of such a beautiful girl as a sister-in-law ; besides your fears 
may be groundless, it is but natural Hugh should admire 
her, and it may be nothing more. Why, I should fall in 
love with her myself, if I were a single man ; but don’t 
worry yourself, darling, or I shall be sorry I noticed his 
seeming fancy, or mentioned it, at any rate.” 

“ Ho, it is not seeming, it is real. I see how blind I 
have been to expose Hugh to the charm of her marvellous 
beauty, for that she is beautiful, I will admit, but we know 
nothing about her — 

‘ Who was her father ? 

Who was her mother ? 

Had she a sister ? 

Had she a brother ?’ h 

quoted Mrs. Stacey, the troubled look deepening in her blue 
eyes, so like the brother’s, she felt all a mother’s anxious 
solicitude for. 

“ Well, what does it matter, so she is a refined and cul- 
tivated woman herself ? She may have the bluest blood in 
the country in her veins, for aught we know to the con- 
trary ; such a fine-looking girl can be of no plebeian extrac- 
tion, I’ll warrant. But do go and rest, you look worn out ; 
and I cannot have you injuring your health and beauty, 
even for your beloved Hugh,” and Major Stacey kissed his 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


23 


wife and went out, to order his horse for a ride over his 
plantation. 

A little later Elenor came down, holding up her long 
black skirt, of some heavy material, while on her lithe 
graceful figure, was a black velvet jacket, that fitted to per- 
fection. A jaunty black velvet cap, with drooping white 
plume (a relic of Mrs. Stacey’s girlish days), seemed just 
the thing for her warm brunette loveliness, so that Hugh’s 
first glance of approval was unconcealed, as he said, “Well, 
Miss Fane, you might win immortal fame, if in verse you 
could equal your talent at improvising an equestrian cos- 
tume.” 

“Do you think so ? I am glad I shall do you no dis- 
credit in my dress, if my awkward riding tries your pa- 
tience ; but I am at your service, and fear I have kept you 
waiting.” 

“No, but we will go. Do not be afraid, that is the great 
secret of a good horsewoman, or man either, for I think 
most horses are so sensible, they know when they carry a 
timid person,” and with some little explanation and instruc- 
tion, they were soon riding slowly down the long avenue, 
Hugh reassuring her, and pointing out the beauties of the 
landscape, which though a winter one, possessed many at- 
tractions. 

When they reached the highway, Elenor sat her horse 
so well, and seemed so fearless, Hugh said, “I think we 
might venture on a little canter, you seem quite at home in 
your new character,” and when Major Stacey (who had 
emerged by a farm-gate into the road) met them, he was 
astonished at seeing Elenor ride with such confidence ; and 
as they passed him. said, “ Well done, I thought you one 
of our accomplished equestrians from town.” 

As they reached the quiet road, farther into the country, 
they slackened their pace, evidently preferring conversa- 
tion to cantering. The sun was disappearing when they 


24 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


returned, and the bracing air had tinged Elenor’s cheeks 
with a 'rose-tint they did not usually wear, and Hugh 
thought, as he lifted her from the saddle, he had never seen 
anything half so lovely, as she was at that moment ; and 
he could not refrain from saying, 4 4 You should ride often 
Miss Fane, for the winter air has painted your cheeks, en- 
hancing the beauty I thought was already perfect. ” 

“ Why, Mr. Legare, I did not think you were a flat- 
terer ; are you not afraid of making me vain ? — that is, if 
I were silly enough to believe you,” replied Elenor, the 
color deepening on her cheeks. 

“ I will not accuse you of affectation, Miss Fane — but 
you have a mirror — look in that (which you will be sure to 
do, if you are like the rest of your sex), and see if I am a 
flatterer : I think all the talk about unconscious beauty, is 
nonsense — for no woman was ever pretty yet, that she did 
not know it only too well ; and know its power, too. I be- 
lieve with Sidney Smith : ‘ How exquisitely absurd to tell 
girls that beauty is of no value, dress of no use ! The great 
thing is to teach them their just value, and that there must 
be something better than a pretty face for real happiness. 
But never sacrifice truth.’ ” 

“ His satanic majesty can quote Scripture to prove him- 
self in the right,” she answered, gayly, “ and if you bring 
such high authority as the witty divine, I must yield the 
point — hut I will be too late for tea, if I listen longer to 
your seductive reasoning,” and Elenor ran hastily up-stairs, 
her heart aglow — as well as her cheeks — with youth and 
happiness. 

* * * * * * * 

After tea, when the children had been taken away by 
Maumer Betty, Hugh begged his sister to sing some of 
the old songs they used to sing together (for he was pas- 
sionately fond of music, and a fine singer himself), in the 
happy past. “ That now seems far away, Miss Fane,” he 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


25 


said, turning to Elenor, “ and, as Madame De Stael says, 
e nothing recalls the past like music. ’ Come, Lily,” going 
over to Mrs. Stacey, and taking her hand to lead her to 
the piano. 

“ Hugh, I am so out of practice, and do not feel very 
well to-night ; do excuse me. Elenor will .play for you, 
which will be decidedly more agreeable, pleaded his sister. 

“ Will you, indeed, Miss Fane ? I have been wondering 
if you did not sing for, as was very unusual with her, 
Elenor had not touched the piano, or sang — except softly, 
in her own room — since Hugh came. 

I fear I shall prove a poor substitute for your sister, 
Mr. Legare — but what will you have ? I sing ballads most- 
ly,” and without waiting for a reply, Elenor seated herself 
at the instrument, and running her hands lightly over the 
keys in a graceful prelude, sang that old (she had learned 
it from Sister Florine), but exquisitely sweet and sad song, 
by Mrs. Hemans, “ The Messenger Bird,” with so much 
expression and feeling, that Mrs. Stacey, who was in rather 
a sad mood, could not keep back the tears, when she thought 
of her loved ones who had gone to that “ spirit land ;” and 
her heart longingly echoed the question, “ Do they love 
there still ? ” Even Hugh’s eyes looked rather misty, and 
he thought Elenor’s voice— as everything else about her — 
perfect. It certainly harmonized with her soft, languid 
beauty, and was full of melody and flute-like sweetness — 
though not of great power or compass. 

Elenor perceived the effect of her song, and hastened to 
say, “ Why, I have given you all the blues ; let me banish 
'them — this is no time for sadness, with Christmas at the 
door,” and the merry airs and amusing songs that followed, 
certainly accomplished her object. 


CHAPTER III. 


The sun rose bright and clear, the day before the party, 
and not long after came Ada and May — so eager were they 
to be of real service to their friend. A servant had been 
dispatched to the woods for holly, mistletoe, ferns, mosses, 
anything green that the cold and frost had spared ; and 
there had been very little of either — as it had been, thus 
far, one of the mildest winters, within the memory of 
that convenient oracle — the oldest inhabitant. For ivy, 
they had only to go to the aspens, many of whose trunks 
were entirely concealed by it ; and Major Stacey had often 
threatened to have it cut away, fearing the trees would be 
injured, but Mrs. Stacey begged he would not, saying it 
relieved somewhat the ghostly look of the white trunks, 
when the trees were bare of foliage, and made green oases 
in the winter landscape. Almost before the girls were 
warm, and had chatted awhile around the fire as to the 
most effective decorations, the foragers returned with their 
cart-load of trophies from the woods — then the busy fingers 
and tongues were not still for many minutes together. 
Hugh begged hard to be allowed to assist, and made him- 
self really so useful, they were glad to have him. Even 
Major Stacey looked in — when an unusual burst of merri- 
ment reached his sanctum — and would make a pretence of 
arranging a festoon here and there, pinch May’s cheeks, 
and tease her about his bachelor brother, then leave theinv 
for the more congenial quiet of his study. Maud and Wat- 
tie also made a great show of helping, but were more noisy 
often than was agreeable — but Mrs. Stacey hated to check 

( 26 ) 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 27 

too harshly their youthful exuberance of spirits. Hugh, 
however, was not so forbearing, and did not hesitate to 
threaten them with banishment when they became too 
boisterous. Mrs. Stacey found Elenor quite as helpful as 
Ada, and possessed of exquisite taste and inventive genius 
— her long pupilage in the convent having made her quite 
an adept in Christmas decorations. Her hanging baskets 
were marvels of taste, with their drooping ivy and fern 
leaves, interspersed with the scarlet holly berries and the 
pearly mistletoe. 

Ada could but observe (it was the first time she had 
seen them together) how Hugh was ever by Elenor’ s side, 
proffering assistance where it did not seem needed ; and 
Elenor would say, “ I can do very well, thatik you ; help 
Miss Ada with those festoons/’ or “ May gives me all the 
assistance I need but it was little use, he was back again 
before she had missed him, and she was forced to let him 
remain, or draw attention to what she hoped would other- 
wise pass unnoticed. 

So the day went quickly and pleasantly by, and all pro- 
iessed themselves satisfied with the result of their efforts ; 
and, indeed, one must have been difficult to please, that 
could, have found fault. The parlors were thrown, by fold- 
ing-doors, into one, and presented a scene truly arcadian 
and fairv-like ; a stout covering of canvas had been 
stretched" entirely over both carpets, for dancing, and a 
stand erected in the wide hall for the musicians, which 
was also prettily decorated. And now the rooms were 
closed, and all was in readiness for — 

“ The music, and the banquet, and the wine, 

The garlands, the rose-odors, and the flowers, 

The sparkling eyes, and flashing ornaments. 

The white arms, and the raven hair . , . 

The many twinkling feet, so small and sylph-like, 

In the gay dance of bounding beauty’s train.” 


28 THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 

Roselawn, the home of the Singletons, was nearer 
the village, and almost in a direct line between it and As - 
pendale. There was a pretty shaded walk through the 
grounds, of which each family availed themselves, in their 
intimate and familiar intercourse, without the necessity of 
entering the public highway, except when riding. Dr. 
Singleton had been for years the beloved physician ” of 
Clinton and the surrounding country. Called to part with 
his wife, to whom he was most tenderly attached, when 
Ada was just entering her teens, and May, a child of eight 
years, he had never sought to fill her place in his heart or 
home, and though his grief was deep and poignant, he 
abated nothing of his professional diligence ; and to the 
casual observer, there was little change, but those who 
looked deeper, and knew him more intimately, saw an 
added gentleness around the sick-bed, and a tenderer sym- 
pathy when they were called to yield up their loved ones 
to the grim messenger, whose coming, his skill, or the 
strong hand of love, could not stay. He was a man ever 
foremost in all works of charity, in public, and educa- 
tional improvement (the Singleton Institute was called so 
in honor of him, and his untiring zeal and devotion in 
building it up, and making it what it was — the pride and 
glory of Clinton), and in everything that was calculated 
to advance the interest of his fellow-man. Though of 
strong and decided political feelings and opinions, he 
would not leave his post as physician, though often so- 
licited by friends to represent their interest in the State 
legislature. “ No,” he would say, “ I must care for your 
physical health, let some else look after your political in- 
terest, to keep a healthy body-politic ; it is of more im- 
portance than you may imagine, to preserve a pure and 
healthy physical manhood and nothing could tempt 
him from his position. 

There was another person in the Singleton household 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


29 


of whom we may be tempted to say too much — one whose 
influence was gentle, yet all-pervading, as the perfume of 
hidden violets. Miss Mary Thornton was a distant cousin 
of Dr. Singleton’s dead wife, who in his great need came 
to supply the mother’s place, as far as she could, to his 
little daughters. Ada and May called her “Aunt,” and 
really loved her as such, so gentle was she, so patient and 
sympathetic in all their childish joys and sorrows. To 
May especially, she was everything her wayward nature 
needed : too young to feel deeply or long, the loss of her 
mother, Aunt Mary soon became the object of her childish 
devotion and repository of her troubles. Ada, though 
mature and self-reliant, for her age, was still too young 
to be the guide of a nature such as May’s, that needed 
firmness, united with wisdom and gentleness, to mould 
it into an admirable character, for May, while giving prom- 
ise of unusual beauty, was wilful and impulsive, and had 
ever been to Miss Thornton a greater care than the more 
tractable Ada, but, as is the case with the wayward ones 
of earth, also more fondly loved. Dr. Singleton was, of 
course, much from home, and considered himself most 
fortunate in having such a woman to take the care of 
his motherless little girls, and preside over his home ; and 
he always treated her with courtly deference and con- 
sideration. - 

At the time our story opens, Ada was eighteen ; and 
had graduated the summer previous at the Singleton In- 
stitute, where May was still a pupil. Without being 
beautiful, she was very attractive — her winning manners 
being her greatest charm ; and to those who knew her 
best, she was most lovable. 

Eobert Brent, a young medical student, completed the 
household at Koselawn. He was the son of a cousin and 
dear friend of Dr. Singleton’s, who at his death (the 
mother had been dead some years before) requested that 


30 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING . 


Dr. Singleton would be the guardian of his son, then six- 
teen years of age. And as there was little besides the boy 
to be guardian of, Dr. Singleton took him into his family, 
as a son, and was educating him for his own profession, 
for which Robert had shown a decided inclination. He 
had attended one course of lectures and was already a 
great help as well as comfort, to his uncle — as he called 
f)r. Singleton, for he felt and acted as a son towards him, 
and as a brother to his daughters. 

But for some time Robert had been aware that his 
feelings for Ada partook of a deeper and different tinge 
than was compatible with brotherly affection, and the 
knowledge had made him shy and reserved of late in his 
manner towards her, something so unusual, that it did 
not escape Ada’s watchful eye, for she too loved Robert 
Brent, but with a sister’s calm and holy affection ; and 
his changed manner grieved her, as she was not conscious 
of having given occasion for offense. 

On Christmas day Robert came in after the rest had 
dined, having taken a long ride into the country to visit a 
charity patient, and found Ada alone in the sitting-room. 
“ It is hard, Robert,” she said, ‘‘that you should have to 
make professional calls to-day ; I think you might have 
eaten your Christmas dinner with us. Where have you 
been, and were you obliged to go ?” 

“Yes ; for uncle or me one, and I preferred to let him 
rest to-day. Old farmer Bruce is very low ; I don’t think 
he will see the dawn of a Hew Year, poor man. But I must 
get my dinner, for I fear Aunt Mary is tired of waiting for 
me,” and Robert rose to go. 

“ One moment, Robert — what have I done to wound, or 
offend you ? Your manner has certainly changed towards 
me of late,” said Ada detaining him. 

“ Wounded me ! offended me ! you, Ada ? Nothing ; it 
must be only your fertile imagination, little woman, that 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


31 


sees a change,” returned Robert, with a lightness he did 
not feel, as he stood holding the door-knob before he passed 
out. 

“ I am very glad : I thought, or imagined, if you like 
it better, you were different somehow, and it troubled me ; 
but I will not keep you longer from your dinner.” 

“ No, no, set your heart at rest, Ada, you have done 
nothing in all your life to wound me ; you haVe always been 
kind,” and he added to himself, as he left the room, 
“ Only too kind, and I am a fool, that is all. I know she 
has not a thought of love, that is not given to Hugh, and 
he cares nothing for it ; but she is blind, blind !” 

‘•'0 Ada! look what beautiful flowers Mr. Hugh has 
sent us for to-night,” exclaimed May, bursting into the 
room a little later, with a bouquet in each hand. “ This 
small one is for me, here is my name on the card ; isn’t 
it kind of him ?” 

“Very kind,” replied her sister with a bright smile, 
taking the flowers from May, and bending over them to 
inhale their delicate fragrance. “ Did vou send thanks, 
May ?” 

“No, I did not see the servant, but here is something 
written on the other side of the card,” and May reads — 

“ * Sweets to tlfe sweet/ you know, little May, 

Fragrant heliotrope and mignonette — 

To deck a graceful, woodland fay. 

And modest blue- eyed violet — 

To-night we’ll dance and sing so gay — 

I claim you now for the third set ! ” 

“ Oh ! isn’t it nice, Ada ? the flowers, the poetry, and an 
engagement to dance, all at once, it is just like Mr. Hugh ” 
(in May’s eyes Hugh was a paragon of perfection). “ But 
what is on your card ? please read it.” 

“ Nothing much, you can read it for yourself, if you 


32 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


are curious to know/’ and Ada threw the card into May’s 
lap, with an air of indifference, as she rose to place her 
flowers in water, to preserve the freshness and beauty she 
seemed, for the moment, not to prize — and here is what 
May read — 

“ Accept this floral tribute, lady fair — 

Pure white camellias for your braided hair, 

With graceful fuchsias mingled here and there. 

And scarlet-hued geranium brighten tliro’ 

Its ducky sheen ; — and now I crave from you, 

Your hand for the first set — remember ! Hugh.” 

Now, although these were quite nice for impromptu lines, 
and the bouquet was lovely, yet Ada felt a vague dissatisfac- 
tion and disquiet — in truth, she had felt unhappy, or rather, 
troubled, since the day before, when she had seen, with sink- 
ing heart, Hugh’s evident fancy for Elenor ; how the girl 
seemed really to possess magnetic power, that drew and held 
him near her, and with woman’s intuition in such things, 
she felt that another (almost a stranger, and she had 
known Hugh all her life) would be the recipient of rarer 
flowers, and more impassioned lines. Be that as it may, 
neither lines or bouquet had given her the pleasure which 
any kindness or attention from Hugh never failed before to 
impart, and her forebodings, if she had them, were true ; 
for at the same time Patty bore up to Elenor’s room a mag- 
nificent bouquet of rarest exotics, rich tropical flowers, like 
the Titian tints of her warm beauty, for Hugh had laid Col. 
Ered Stacey’s hot-house under contribution, and culled his 
choicest pets to offer the girl, who seemed to have bewitched 
him. 

As Elenor tocSfthem from the silver salver on which 
Patty bore them with great care, a deep flush of pleasure 
suffused her cheeks, and she exclaimed, “ Oh, how lovely ! 
Tell Mr. Legare, I thank him very much,” and as the ser- 


33 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 

vant left the room, she noticed the card, and with glad, 
eager eyes she too read — 

“Earth’s loveliest flowers an offering were too poor 
To lay upon thy shrine, thou queenlier rose 
Than ever bloomed to gladden Paradise ; — 

Would I could pluck and wear thee next my heart, 

My rose of all the world, my beautiful ! ” 

If Elenor had thrilled at the mere breath of his fragrant 
offering, what were her feelings as she read these impas- 
sioned lines ? She hardly understood them herself, and she 
did not stop to question their meaning, or attempt to ana- 
lyze the tumultuous throbbings of her heart, as she sat 
wrapt in a happy trance, with the flowers pressed in their 
cool fragrance to her burning cheeks, until Patty’s entrance 
admonished her that it was time to begin her toilet for the 
evening. 

“ Law, Miss El’n’r, time you was gitten ready sliure, Mass 
Hugh done dressed, and makin’ Tom light de parlors, and 
it jes looks butiful, Miss El’n’r,” said Patty, as she pro- 
ceeded to light Elenor’s lamp. 


CHAPTER IV. 

But too long have I neglected to bring before the foot- 
lights the noble master of Stacey Hall, Colonel Fred 
Stacey, bachelor, and only brother of Major Walter Stacey 
of Aspendale. Both these sons of the South had earned 
their military titles in her service, during the civil war, and 
why should they not wear them ! These two, and a sister, 
Mrs. Howard Hamilton, of Baltimore, were the only sur- 
viving members of the family, at the time of which we 


34 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


write. There had been one other brother, the oldest, a 
wild, erratic sort of fellow, whose uncertain career had been 
a great grief to his parents while they lived ; but he, too, 
was dead, many years ago, and the family buried his faults 
with him*, remembering only his virtues ; for he had many, 
and a really noble nature underlying the recklessness and 
seeming worthlessness of his character. 

Fred Stacey was several years older than Walter, and if 
not quite so handsome, many liked his grave, intellectual 
face better, and while he was perhaps less brilliant than his 
brother, he was a man of deeper culture, and greater force 
of character. He had been engaged to Maud Legare, an 
older sister of Walters wife, whom he loved with a passion-’ 
ate devotion, that only such strong, reticent natures as his 
are capable of. During the first year of the war, when he 
yras absent in the service of his beloved South, a cruel 
bridegroom came and snatched her from his waiting arms. 

As soon as he was informed of the illness of his be- 
trothed, he hastened to her, but too late ! — she was sleep- 
ing “under the daisies.” What he suffered as he knelt 
alone by that new-made grave, was known only to his God. 
After a short time, given to sorrow too deep and poignant 
for the world to understand or appreciate, he returned to 
the strife, not so fierce as the battle with his own heart for 
submission to the blow, which left its trace on all his after 
life ! Loving again had not entered his thoughts, and he 
became from that time, the quiet, reserved man we find 
him, caring little for society, and mingling rarely with the 
outside world; but devoting his time to reading and study, 
and with the care of his farm, and the cultivation of flow- 
ers, he was not wholly miserable. Being considered a most 
eligible parti , Clinton was untiring in its efforts to inveigle 
him again into society, but with most unsatisfactory suc- 
cess. His sister-in-law, who had more influence with him 
than all Clinton combined, had commanded his appearance 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


35 


at her Christmas festival, on pain of her royal displeasure, 
and in this instance, he was quite willing to obey. 

Colonel Stacey had from the first been strongly and 
strangely charmed and drawn towards Elenor (there was 
certainly something magnetic about the girl), and since 
she had been an inmate of his brother’s house, he had 
been a more frequent visitor, and they had become ex- 
cellent friends, if nothing more. Elenor greatly admired, 
the high-toned, cultivated man, and felt herself improved, 
as well as entertained, by his intelligent conversation, in 
which his rare and varied information was mingled, with 
no thought or appearance of pedantry, and he loved to 
watch the unfolding of her quick, bright intellect as he 
did the opening of one of his exquisite tropical flowers, 
and to see her lovely face, and deep dark eyes changing 
with every new thought and emotion, like sunshine and 
shadow playing hide and seek over some gorgeous autumnal 
landscape. In fact, he almost began to think he might 
love again, and that at last he had found a woman who 
could fill the place of his lost Maud, in his heart. And 
even our grave and dignified colonel had some masculine 
weaknesses, for he was anxious to see if Elenor’s beauty 
could be enhanced by evening dress, and some curiosity 
mingled with this, to see the impression she had made on 
the fastidious Hugh, for though Hugh had been to the 
Hall, Col. Stacey had not been to Aspendale, since his 
arrival, or he would perhaps have seen that the aforesaid 
fastidious young gentleman had already succumbed to her 
resistless charms. 

* * * * * * * 

Ada commenced her toilet for the evening with no very 
bright anticipations of pleasure ; she felt that something 
was amiss, something had come between her and Hugh, 
that she was powerless to turn aside. She was not first, 
as formerly, when if he did not love her, he loved no one 


36 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING . 


else, still, she had never been more carefully or becomingly 
attired ; and when she descended to the sitting-room, 
where May and Eobert were awaiting her — May rather 
impatiently, for it was her first party of grown people, 
they all pronounced her costume perfect. And Eobert 
felt more than ever, as he gazed admiringly at the pure 
sweet girl, that his efforts to regain a calm, brotherly re- 
gard, must prove futile. 

“ Come, children, be off with you,” said the old doctor 
as he kissed his daughters good-night, “ the carriage has 
been waiting some time — don’t stay too late, or dance too 
much.” 

It was the first time Elenor had seen a gatheringof 
the beauty and chivalry of Clinton and the surrounding 
country, for she had not been overwhelmed with invita- 
tions, or gaities, the winter being the dull season in that, 
as in most country towns at the South ; and Clinton being 
like others in this particular, that it did not run afte^poor 
governesses, however pretty. Why should it ? Human 
nature is much the same the world over, and toadyism 
has become more common in the South — to her shame be 
it said ! than before the war ; while the length of one’s 
purse is the usual standard by which one’s claim to atten- 
tion and courtesy is measured. 

As Elenor entered the brilliant rooms, leaning on the 
arm of Col. Stacey, there was evidently a sensation ; and low 
whispers could be heard about — “Who is she ?” “How 
lovely !” “ The most beautiful creature I ever saw,” etc., 

and one ill-natured response, at least, from Miss Jemima 
Brooks — “ Pshaw ! it’s only Mrs. Stacey’s Yankee gov- 
erness while her hopeful brother in another part of the 
room, said, not under his breath, “ By Jove ! she’s stun- 
ning ! ” Mrs. Stacey was busy receiving her guests, for 
they were still arriving, and kept Hugh so persistentlv at 
her side, to greet all his old friends, that but for Col. 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


37 


Stacey’s reassuring presence, Elenor would have felt rather 
isolated amid so many strangers. But her graceful ease 
and self-possession would not have failed her in the most 
recherche assemblage, yet she had been little into general 
society, and still felt the seclusion of convent-life and 
school-girl timidity cling about her in the presence of 
strangers. Miss Jemima called by the* more youthful 
diminutive of Mirny, at her express command to her 
friends, was not remarkable for beauty or amiability, and 
as each year lessened her chances for matrimony, she be- 
came more spiteful to any of her sex, who possessed the 
dangerous charms of youth and beauty, which she lacked. 
Miss Jemima had long had her aspirations fixed on Col. 
Stacey (she certainly did not lack ambition), but thus far 
with so little success, she was beginning to despair, and 
when she saw him enter with a lovely young creature on 
his arm, her last hope expired, and mental Anathemas, 
“not loud, but deep,” were poured on Elenor’s devoted 
head. But she managed to assume an artless and youthful 
manner as they approached the part of the room where 
she was, and smiling as sweetly as her soured visage could 
possibly manage to do, she said, 

“ What a stranger you are, Col. Stacey, a sight of yon 
is good for sore eyes — do introduce me to your friend — 
your brother’s governess, is she not ?” 

“ Miss Fane — Miss Brooks. Have you sore eyes, Miss 
Jemima ?” 

“ Oh no ! you naughty man — don’t call me Jemima — 
you know I detest the name, call me Mirny — we are such 
old friends.” 

“Ah, I beg pardon, Miss Mirny, I will try to remember. 
There is the music — will you not dance, Miss Fane ? ” he 
asked, turning to Elenor as she stood amused and interest- 
ed, watching the many new and strange faces around her. 
“ May I not try to renew my knowledge of the youthful 


38 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


pastime, by being your partner ? Though I fear you will 
find me rather awkward — it has been years since I danced.” 
And it was true, for since the one sweet face that made his 
world was hidden from his sight, and that dear form had 
slipped from his loving clasp, he had never asked the hand 
of woman in the dance until now. Elenor did not know 
what an evidence of her influence over the reserved and re- 
tiring man the request proved, but she replied brightly : 

“ With pleasure ; I have not danced for a good while 
either — so we can excuse each other if we are a little un- 
graceful at first — though I think ‘ the poetry of motion,’ 
like music, is easily recalled.” 

“No doubt, by the young, but I fear my feet have 
4 forgotten their cunning/ and feel their added weight of 
years,” said Col. Stacey, smiling, as he led her to a place 
in the set that was forming. 

“Most grave and reverend seignior,” returned Elenor, 
with mock humility, “I fear so youthful a partner as I can- 
not keep pace with your slow and measured step — perhaps 
Miss Brooks would suit you better,” she whispered, with a 
malicious little smile. 

“ Heaven forbid ! I will pay you for that, by introduc- 
ing her brother ; he has hardly taken his eyes ofi you since 
our entrance,” replied Col. Stacey. 

“ Which is he ? I hope he does not resemble his sister.” 

“You will have ample opportunity of judging before 
the evening is over, to your cost, I fear — he is a greit bore.” 
But it was their turn to dance, and further conversation im- 
practicable. Hugh had, as we know, to gratify his sister, 
already solicited Ada’s hand for the first set ; but he had 
mentally reserved the next for Elenor — and much to his 
chagrin he saw her led ofi by Col. Stacey without being able 
to secure her promise. But as he happened to be in the 
same set, he had the pleasure of watching her as she moved 
with queenly grace and abandon through the quadrille. 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


39 


which he did with more interest than was exactly consist- 
ent with the attention due his fair partner. After it was 
over, many of the dancers went out on the moonlit colon- 
nade ; but Ada Singleton, being that anomaly among young 
people — a prudent girl, replied to Hugh’s invitation to 
promenade : 

“No, thank you — I thought you knew, Mr. Legare (I 
don’t suppose Ada had ever called him Mr. Legare before 
in her life), that I never go into the night air, when heated 
from dancing ; but do not let me detain you.” 

“ I ought to have remembered it, Miss Singleton,” Hugh 
returned, with emphasis on her name, and an amused smile, 
“ and I can but commend your prudence. It would be wise 
if all youug ladies would follow your example — but the men 
are to blame for tempting them into danger.” 

“ That is true ; but a woman ought to know, and do, 
what is for her own physical well-being, in spite of tempta- 
tion,” said Ada. 

“ Yes ; but so few have your firmness and determina- 
tion to do what is safest, when inclination leads into more 
dangerous, but agreeable paths.” 

“ You give me more credit than I deserve : it is entirely 
due to papa’s rigid training on all points touching health, 
that it has become quite easy and natural for me to observe 
such restrictions ; but May is not so well trained, I feel sure 
she is out — will you please bring her in. I saw her dancing 
with Mr. G-wynn, the new teacher in the high school — you 
do not know him ? he is very nice — please go,” and as Mrs. 
Stacey came up at the moment to look after her favorite, 
Hugh went in search of May. Coming across Elenor and 
Col. Stacey, he stopped, saying, “ Excuse me, Fred — Miss 
Fane, will you give me the next set ?” 

“ I am very sorry, Mr. Legare, but I have promised it 
to Mr. Brooks,” who as soon as the dance was over, had 
sought an introduction to Elenor, and in the next breath. 


40 THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 

asked her to dance, and as she had no excuse, she was fain 
to accept. 

“ Fie ! Miss Elenor, I fear you do not appreciate as you 
ought, the honor Mr. Brooks has done you. I am sorry for 
you, Hugh, but we must hide our diminished heads, since 
Theo. comes to the fore,” laughed Col. Stacey. But Hugh 
was too much disappointed to relish this gay badinage, so 
he passed on, and having found May, and delivered her 
sister’s message, he lit a cigar, and strolled out into the 
avenue, feeling in no mood to return to the parlors and 
play the agreeable. Hugh was somewhat spoiled it must 
be confessed, not only during the life of his parents, for he 
was an only son, but his sister, since their death had always 
made his wish her law (as also did the sweet Maud, as 
long as she lived) and disappointment even in little things, 
he rarely had to endure, and while this had not materially 
spoiled a naturally noble and unselfish nature, yet when 
real trouble and disappointment should come, as come they 
must, at some time, in the life of even the most favored 
ones of earth, he might be less strong to endure and rise 
superior to their influence. 

Theo. Brooks, with his usual practice of attaching him- 
self to the young lady he saw was attracting most attention, 
his motive being generally to make himself more conspic- 
uous, was very attentive to Elenor whenever he found an 
opportunity, much to Col. Stacey’s annoyance, and Hugh’s 
disgust, the former fearing the pleasure of the evening 
would be greatly marred, for her, by being compelled to lis- 
ten to his tiresome and insipid platitudes. 

The whole Brooks family were intensely vulgar, having 
risen since the war by sudden and doubtfully acquired 
wealth they were very deficient in that true refinement ; 
which only gentle birth and education for successive gener- 
ations can give. But they had managed, by a great display 
of their wealth, by which society is so easily dazzled, and so 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


41 


soon worships, to secure the entree to circles in which, if 
they did not feel at home, they covered the fact by a bois- 
terous indifference and vulgar bravado. Theodore was a 
lawyer, by profession, and imagined that fact entitled him 
to the consideration of the most exclusive, and placed him 
at once above those outside of that learned and aristocratic 
calling, while his money was sure to give him favor, and 
secure for him a welcome, from young and old, of the femi- 
nine portion of society. But he had certainly reckoned 
without his host in regard to Elenor, for she listened to him 
with ill-conc’ealed disgust, and a manner so distrait , that he 
must have observed it, had he not been very obtuse, as well 
as very conceited. 

Hugh had returned to the parlors in time to fulfil his 
engagement with May Singleton, but had not yet found 
Elenor free to give him the dance he coveted, when at last, 
finding Tom about to announce supper, he bid him “ wait 
a moment,” and making his way to ElenoFs side, sur- 
rounded as she was, he said, 

“'Miss Fane, it seems I cannot have the pleasure of 
dancing with you, may I take you into the refreshment 
room ?” and as Elenor arose with a “ thank you, Mr. Le- 
gare,” Tom announced in stentorian voice, “ Supper ladies 
and gentlemen !” 


CHAPTER Y. 

“ Mr. Legare, I hope your patience is not entirely 
threadbare, I could not help it — ‘ first come, first served/ 
you know ; but I am free, now, and at your service, if you 
still care to dance with me,” said Elenor, as they made 
their way into the supper room. 


42 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ Thank heaven ! if I still care ! how can you doubt it ? 
as if I had cared for anything else all the miserable even- 
ing ! Will you dance the next six sets with me ?” asked 
Hugh, eagerly. 

“ As many as you like.” 

“ Thanks ; will you give me a waltz ? You owe me 
some amends for being engaged every time I asked you.” 

“ Which was not my fault, but your own tardiness — but 
I will waltz with you, if that will make amends — though I 
cannot see that I owe you any,” laughed Elenor, “ and I 
am not willing to tax your gallantry too far.” 

“ Have no fears on that score — 

I am content, whatever else betide, 

' To linger, blest and happy, by thy side I 

You see the prospect has really inspired me to ‘lisp in 
numbers’ — impromptu,” whispered Hugh, smiling and 
happy at last. 

“ Well, don’t forget I am mortal, and would like some- 
thing more substantial than poetry,” returned Elenor, gay- 
ly, yet his low, earnest tone sent a thrill to her heart. 

“ I don’t believe you are mortal,” he said, as he re- 
turned to her side with a plate piled with tempting viands, 
“ prove it, by eating all I have brought you.” 

“ I should indeed be more than mortal to do that,” 
laughed Elenor, “ although the unusual exercise of dancing 
has given me quite an appetite.” 

“By the way, Miss Fane, speaking of exercise, I hope 
you will keep up riding, and when I return next summer, 
I shall find you quite an accomplished horsewoman. It 
is such a graceful, healthful exercise, and our Southern 
women do not ride enough — or walk either, for that matter 
— in fact, they rarely become adepts at anything. Wo are 
the greatest people for want of thoroughness, on the face 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VINO 


43 


of the earth — we always stop short of perfectness,” said 
Hugh, with such energy, that Elenor thought he could 
be very much in earnest, enthusiastic even, "in any cause 
in which he was interested, or on any subject that he be- 
lieved in. 

“ Are you not rather severe on the South ?” she asked. 
“ But of course you ought to know better than I — though 
that is not the impression my limited observation has left 
on me.” 

It is true, nevertheless — as you will acknowledge be- 
fore you have been here a great while,” persisted Hugh. 
“ What ! not through already ? I see you are catching the 
spirit ; take care ! ” 

Col. Stacey was evidently enjoying the evening by mak- 
ing himself generally agreeable — even to Miss Jemima. His 
was a most unselfish and chivalrous nature, that felt it more 
blessed to give pleasure than receive it — and many a wall- 
flower was made to rejoice at his kind efforts to render the 
occasion pleasant to them — and this was the more, easily 
done, as he did not dance again, after the one turn with 
Elenor. 

Mrs. Stacey sought an opportunity after supper to say a 
word to Hugh : “ Why. will you make your attentions to 
Elenor so marked ? I am disappointed in you to-night, 
Hugh; you have hardly spoken to Ada,” she said, with a 
troubled look. 

“ Lilian, do let me enjoy myself in my own way. I do 
not think my attentions to Miss Fane have been noticed by 
anyone but you — in fact, I have paid her very little, have 
not even danced with her yet. You wish me to enjoy the 
party you have so kindly given for my benefit, do you 
not ?” 

“ Certainly, but you know the gossiping tongues of 
Clinton — do be careful,” urged his sister. 

“It will be charity to give them sojne foundation to 


44 THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 

build on, then. Don’t worry about me, Lily, I think I have 
arrived at years of discretion,” replied Hugh, a little warm- 
ly, for he did not like his sister’s attempt to control his 
actions ; but his good-humor was soon restored, when the 
band struck up one of Strauss’ most inspiriting waltzes, 
and he was soon gliding with Elenor to its perfect, grace- 
ful measure. As his blue eyes looked into the soft, lustrous 
depths of her beautiful dark ones, and her warm breath 
caressed his cheek, he felt that this was indeed compensa- 
tion for his waiting. Col. Stacey looked on with doubtful 
approval, as he saw Elenor waltzing — so unconscious of 
wrong, with this almost stranger, but then, he was rather 
old-fashioned in his notions, the world said ; and Ada too 
wondered a little that this girl should do without hesitation 
what she had never done, though Hugh had often asked 
her — and she had known him all her life ! Was Ada also 
rather prudish ? 

Later in the evening Hugh asked Elenor to promenade. 
“ Get a shawl, Miss Fane,” he prudently suggested, “ the 
night air is growing more chill;” and Elenor caught up 
a crimson cashmere from the hat-rack, where she had 
thoughtfully placed it in case of need, and throwing it 
over her shoulders, they went out into the moonlight, 
to rivet more closely the chains already being woven 
around their hearts. Little recked they that 1 the day 
would come, when their most passionate prayer would be", 
that they might loose those fetters without torturing pain 
and unspeakable agony to both. How blind we/are ! How 
little we know what the future has in store for us ! But 
is it not best so ? Who could bear life, even the young 
and careless, if the veil were lifted for a moment, and 
we could see the hideous spectres that loom on either side 
our life-path ! Would not many timid ones start back 
appalled, and with rash hand seek, in death’s oblivion, to 
avoid the trials they dare not face. 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


45 


“ Miss Fane, I leave to-morrow,” said Hugh, as they 
walked slowly under the skeleton aspens of the avenue, 
the moonlight making a delicate net- work of shadows 
on the white-sanded drive beneath. 

“ So soon !” replied Elenor with a heart-throb. “I 
thought you remained until after New Year’s day.” 

“ No, I am compelled to be in Savannah on the twenty- 
seventh, on very important business ; I did not mention it 
to Lily for fear of marring the pleasure of her party. 
Now, I hope you will not think me premature or hasty, 
but I cannot risk anything by my tardiness in this matter, 
though I may offend you. I must tell you before I go, 
Miss Fane — Elenor, that I love you, love you now, as I 
know I shall love you always. I loved you from the first 
moment I saw you. I am as sure of my own heart now, 
as I shall ever be, but you maty not know yours ; and I 
do not ask you now, if you can return that love, but I 
do wish you to be assured of mine, and. ask you to let me 
hope that sometime in the future you can return it — will 
you not try, dear one ? ” 

. “ 0 Mr. Legare, you cannot, must not love me ! what 
will your sister say ? Nothing but harm can come of it 
— your sister’s governess ! a waif, alone and friendless 
in "the world ! You are right to go away ; go, and forget 
me ! ” All this she said with such passionate haste, he 
could not interrupt her ; but when she paused, he led 
her to a rustic seat, and placing himself beside her said : 

“ Forget you ? never. If you are alone and friendless, 
it is only another reason why I should and do love you, 
my darling, my peerless Elenor ! Are you offended by 
my sudden avowal? And will you not bid me hope?” 
he asked, taking her little brown, shapely hand, and press- 
ing it warmly in his large, fair one. 

“No, no. I am not offended, but I must not bid 
you hope. Have I not seen that it is the dearest wish 


46 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


of your sister’s heart that you marry Miss Singleton ? I 
cannot come between you,” returned Elenor, the quick 
tears springing to her eyes at the thought of his belonging 
to another. A 

44 But you have come between me and every other 
living woman ! ” said Hugh passionately, 44 and no earthly 
power shall separate us, if you will only love me — say 
that you will try.” 

44 1 must try not to love you, and you must forget me, 
Mr. Legare — and you will, it is only a passing fancy,” and 
Elenor tried to smile and treat the matter lightly ; but in 
her innocent 44 I must try not to love you,” she had revealed 
more than she intended of her real feelings, and Hugh was 
not without hope as he replied : 

4 4 It is no passing fancy, as you know, and I will not try 
to forget you, for I am not bound to another, as you seem 
to'intimate ; to no other woman have I ever said, 4 1 love 
you and until von say to me, 4 1 can never return your 
love,’ will I try to forget,” and Hugh pressed his lips to the 
hand he still held clasped in his own, 

44 Mr. Legare, I cannot listen to you longer ; our absence 
will be noticed, and your sister will be much displeased with 
me. Do let us go in,” pleaded Elenor. 

44 Well, if we must; but we will keep this in our own 
hearts for the present — only for your sake, dearest ; I care 
not if the whole world knows my love for you, I glory in 
it. And do try to remember, I am a free agent in loving and 
in choosing a wife — in this I shall consult no one ; and I am 
bound only to you, until you say the word that sets me free. 
You have not said it, and you will not say it, darling ?” he 
said -so low and beseechingly that Elenor found it very hard 
to resist. 

44 0 Hugh — -Mr. Legare ! I cannot, dare not promise; 
don’t you see how I am situated ? Everyone will be angry 
with me, and I shall be so unhappy. Please let us go in,” 


l 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 47 

again urged Elenor, more troubled than flattered at Hugh’s 
sudden and unexpected avowal of love. 

‘‘Certainly ; I am at your service,” he said, rising and 
drawing her hand through his arm, “ but do not be fright- 
ened, my timid fawn, I will stand between you and all dan- 
ger, now and always, my darling, if you will let me.” 

To this Elenor made no reply, as they were nearing the 
colonnade, which was filled with promenaders passing to 
and fro ; while gay voices and merry laughter mingled with 
the music, made the scene through which Elenor had just 
passed seem unreal and dream-like. 

A little later Col. Stacy made his way to Elenor, as she 
sat looking rather pensive, and asked : 

“ Why so sad, Miss Elenor ? Has Hugh been saying 
anything to cause that shadow on your bright face ? If so, 
I will call him out, ‘ with coffee and pistols for two you 
know I am your accepted champion to-night, and will do 
battle to the death in your cause.” 

“ Ho, no, indeed he has not ; why should you think 
so ?” replied Elenor, trying to brighten ; but the conscious 
blood suffused her cheeks, and he, noting her confusion, 
drew his own conclusions, which were, however, rather wide 
of the mark ; for while he thought Hugh might have been 
“ whispering soft nothings ” into her ear, he never dreamed 
for a moment that he had made a serious avowal of love. 
Perhaps Col. Stacey forgot in his calmer years, that in 
youth 

“ There are looks and tones that dart. 

Like instant sunshine o’er the heart,” 


and that there is really and truly, in this matter-of-fact 
world of ours, such a thing as love at first sight. 

“ Well, I am glad my prowess may still sleep, un- 
tested,” he replied gayly, “ but Brooks has been searching 


48 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


for you, and trying everybody’s patience with the ques- 
tion, 4 Where is Miss Fane ? Can you tell me where to find 
Miss Fane ?’ ” 

“ 0, the horrid man ! Col. Stacey do you believe in at- 
traction and repulsion at first sight ?” she asked. 

44 In a measure ; but the feeling is not always a safe one 
to guide us in judging of character. Why do you feel a sly 
antipathy for Theo. ?” asked Col. Stacey, amused at her 
look of disgust. 

44 He does not attract me, certainly, he is not magnetic ; 
and I have found, in my limited experience, that my in- 
tuitions rarely deceive me.” 

44 He finds you magnetic, at any rate,” returned her 
friend, laughing. 

44 Ah, Miss Fane, happy to find you at last ;” said the 
subject of their remarks, coming up at the moment ; 44 you 
know the next set is ours,” and Elenor rose to go through 
the martyrdom of dancing with Brooks ; though almost 
anything was a relief from her too busy thoughts, on what 
had transpired. 

Hugh, now that he had unburdened his heart by con- 
fession, and was nursing a new-born hope, could afford to 
ease his conscience, and propitiate his sister, by being very 
attentive for the rest of the evening to Ada Singleton. 


CHAPTER YI. 

The next morning all were astir at an early hour to see 
Hugh off ; for as we have seen, he was a most important 
personage in that household. Even Maud and little Wat- 
tie were up to say good-by to 44 Uncle Hugh,” whom they* 
loved more as an older "brother, than an uncle. Elenor 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


49 


knew that all the family would breakfast with Hugh, and 
she thought it best to join the circle as usual, and thus dis- 
arm suspicion ; and if a desire to see the last of her lover 
was even a greater incentive to her early rising, we need not 
wonder. 

The nearest station was ten miles distant, and as the 

morning train on the C Railroad passed at 9.45, an 

early start was necessary ; and Major Stacey and Hugh were 
already seated at the table, waiting, when Elenor entered the 
breakfast room. She could not prevent a look of conscious- 
ness, and a brighter color coming to her tell-tale face ; but 
Major Stacey’s cheerful “Good morning, Miss Elenor, I 
hardly thought you would be down, after our late hours 
last night,” served to restore her equanimity, while he con- 
tinued, “And this shabby fellow does not deserve that we 
should all be disturbed by his tfhtimely departure. But 
you are looking as bright as the goddess of morning ; 
how did you manage it, with so little of ‘nature’s sweet 
restorer ? ’ ” 

“Oh, I took deep draughts, and lost no time in dreams,” 
replied Elenor, smiling. “But where is Mrs. Stacey ? Shall 
I pour the coffee ?” 

“ I think she would be obliged to you, as she is busy 
with Hugh’s lunch ; which I know will be bountiful enough 
fora dozen men (in love) from here to Savannah,” said 
Major Staoev. 

“ You would intimate that I am in love,” returned 
Hugh; “since when, may I ask ?” 

“Oh, most young men of tender years are generally in 
love — it is their normal condition,” Major Stacey replied, 
laughing. 

“ Put me down as the exception to the rule, if you 
please,” but Hugh dared not look at Elenor just then, and 
after a rather awkward pause, he turned to her, and said : 

“ Miss Fane, I hope you will not be too hard on poor 


50 THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 

Brooks ; he is badly done for, I think, and Miss Ada will 
have to look after her quondam lover.” 

“ You certainly overrate my powers, Mr. Legare — I 
cannot have impressed so important a personage as Mr. 
Brooks, surely,” Elenor returned, ironically ; but Mrs. 
Stacey’s opportune entrance put an end*to this forced con- 
versation. 

se You down, Elenor ! I am much obliged to you for 
taking mv place,” she said, then turning to her brother — 
“ Hugh, I cannot be reconciled to your leaving so soon, and 
so suddenly ; just think of it, Elenor, he did not let me 
know it until last night, after the company had all gone,” 
and tears came into the blue eyes, so like Hugh’s. 

“ You know why I did not, Lily — but let us decide 
about our trip for the summer ; I vote for the Virginia 
Springs — what say you, Walter ?” 

“ Very good ; I’d like to go back to the old State that 
bore the burden and heat of the contest, and through the 
long, weary years cared for our brave soldiers as tenderly as 
she could, without a murmur ! Yes, let it be Virginia — I 
should like to see my old tramping ground again, which I 
can do, while the rest of you are enjoying the dolce far 
niente of the Springs,” Major Stacey replied, as he placed 
his napkin in its ring and pushed back his chair. Miss 
Fane, would you not like such a jaunt ?” 

“ Exceedinglv ; do you think seriously of going, Mrs. 
Stacey?” asked Elenor. 

“ilugh says so, and he generally has his way,” an- 
swered Mrs. Stacey, trying to smile ; “ but I think it is 
rather early to be laying our plans.” 

“ Hugh, is your luggage ready ?” asked Major Stacey, 
as he rose from the table ; “ I must hurry Caesar, you have 
no time to lose ; don’t let him drive hard,” and he and Mrs. 
Stacey left the room, followed by the children. 

(i Miss Fane — Elenor, may I write to you ?” asked Hugh, 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


51 


going over to where she was, ostensibly busy plucking the 
dead leaves from the plants arranged on a pretty rustic 
stand in front of the low window, so as to catch the first 
beams of the morning sunshine. 

“Not for the world !” she replied, with alarm. “Your 
sister must know if you write ; do not ask it, please.” 

“ Give me one word of hope, then, to cheer me in my 
absence.” 

“ I dare not ! I can only say, wait — you may change, 
and then—” 

“ Never ! and you are, you shall be mine ! ” and before 
she was aware, he clasped her in his arms, and pressed pas- 
sionate kisses on her lips. “ Farewell, darling ! forgive me, 
aud let no other press these lips until we meet a£ain !” and 
Hugh hurried from the room, leaving Elenor so amazed 
and confused, that she rushed up-stairs to her room, where, 
after turning the key, she sank into a chair and burst into 
tears — whether of indignation at Hugh’s temerity, or regret 
for his departure, she could scarcely have told. 

“ Where is Elenor ?” asked Mrs. Stacey, as with tearful 
eyes, she and'tbe children — who always made a scene when 
Hugh left — stood on the colonnade saying their good-byes. 

“I have made my adieus to her, and believe she went 
to her room,” answered Hugh, with as much indifference 
as he could assume ; but it did not deceive his sister’s keen 
penetration, for she said : 

“ 0 Hugh ! I fear you are going to disappoint my 
most cherished hope.” 

“Nonsense, Lily, don’t take foolish notions into your 
head,” returned her brother smiling; “good-by, dearest! 
write to me soon,” then turning to the children, “ Maud, 
you and Wattie must be good, and love Miss Fane very 
much, and I will see what I can find pretty in Savannah to 
bring you, when I come,” this was whispered with an arm 
around each. 


' 52 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ 0. we love her ever so much now, don’t we. Wattie ?” 
whispered Maud in reply. Hugh kissed each chubby cheek, 
and hurried to the carriage, "for Major Stacey’s, “Come 
along, Hugh, you’ll be too late for the train,” hastened his 
lagging steps ; but did not prevent his casting a glance up 
to Elenor’s window, where he caught a glimpse of a tear- 
stained face, and waved a last adieu. 

* * * * * % * 

Elenor had thought little of love or marriage. Seeing 
nothing of the other sex in the secluded life of the convent, 
her mind had dwelt much less than most girl’s of her age, 
on such subjects ; and the feelings awakened by Hugh’s 
unexpected avowal of love, were so new and strange, she 
hardly understood their meaning ; though she could but ac- 
knowledge that some emotion was a guest in her heart, to 
which it had before been a sti anger. Yet her most dis- 
tinct and decided thought was, that it must not be cher- 
ished, — this foe to her peace, and disturber of the sweet 
haven of rest, the congenial, pleasant home, she had found. 
Ho, she would strive to extinguish the flame she knew was 
kindling in her heart ; and she would, she must discour- 
age Hugh ! 

After Hugh had gone, Mrs. Stacey occupied herself 
with having things restored to their wonted order ; and in 
packing baskets of delicacies for her more humble neigh- 
bors. "Tom was kept busy going the rounds ; rather to "his 
disgust at having to wait on “'poor white folks,” when the 
village was luring him with its crowds of the recently 
emancipated, and its din and confusion, so dear to the 
African heart on that longed-for holiday, but with the prom- 
ise of the whole afternoon to himself, he had to be content. 

“ Mrs. Stacey,” said Elenor. who was kindly assisting in 
the charitable work, “ I would like a walk this morning, 
and if you approve, the children and I can take Mrs. Wil- 
liams’ basket. I wish to see Winnie, any way, about the 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VING. 


53 


lessons in music Col. Stacey said she was so anxious to 
have me give her.” 

“ Very well ; I know the children will be delighted, if 
you do not mind being troubled with them,” replied Mrs. 
Stacey. 

“"No, indeed, I had rather have them than not; and 
Winnie is so fond of them.” 

The house occupied by the Williams family was a neat 
cottage on the outskirts of Col. Stacey’s plantation, about 
half way between Aspendale and the Hall ; so that the 
walk was not a very long one, the houses being about two 
miles apart bv the highway. But there was a nearer way 
through the fields and meadows, used by pedestrians, and 
this walk Elenor and the children took. In the days of 
slavery it had been the overseer’s quarters, but Col. Stacey 
had it repaired, a neat veranda added, and newly painted, 
before the Williams’ took possession. And when flowers 
and shrubbery had been planted by Mrs. Williams and 
Winnie, and pretty clambering vines shaded the little ve- 
randa, and adorned many a rustic frame in the small front 
yard, it had been during the past summer quite a bower 
of beauty. They had been its occupants for a year, when 
we introduce them to the reader. Theirs was but the old 
and common story since the war, a refined and cultivated 
family reduced to poverty. Col. Stacey had made Mr. 
Williams’ acquaintance not very long after his removal to 
Clinton (from a neighboring town) where he had hoped 
to improve his condition, and be able to complete the edu- 
cation of his two sons and his daughter ; but when Col. 
Stacey found him out, he had exhausted the little that he 
had left after the expense of moving, and had been unable 
to get into business, and was so discouraged and despairing 
that he was almost on the point of suicide. Col. Stacey, by 
his sympathetic manner and magnetic nature, drew from 
Mr. Williams, in spite of himself, the recital of his troubles, 


54 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


in which he was deeply interested. With him to see mis- 
fortune, and to hear of struggles with the hydra-headed 
monster, poverty, was to endeavor to relieve it, and he then 
and there offered Mr. Williams the position of steward or 
superintendent of his farm, in which his principal duties 
would be to adjust shares, keep the farm books, etc. For 
Col. Stacey had dismissed his overseer when the war closed, 
and since then had given his personal supervision to his 
plantation ; but now, having repaired in a great measure 
his losses by the war and mismanagement during his ab- 
sence, he felt that he could afford an assistant, and also 
help a worthy man. 

When he had ended his proposal, Mr. Williams was 
too full to speak, but as soon as he had in some degree 
recovered his composure, he said in tremulous tones : 

“ I will gratefully accept your kind offer, and may 
God forever bless you, for you have saved me from 
despair.” 

Mrs. Williams was much above the ordinary woman, 
even of refined and educated circles ; she had been bright 
and pretty and a considerable belle in her girlhood ; and 
being tenderly nurtured and of rather frail constitution, 
the change in their circumstances fell heavily on her. 
The unceasing anxiety and wearing effort to eke out their 
scanty means was almost more than she could bear. And 
when she saw how despairing her husband was at times, 
and what a source of grief it was to him, that he could 
not afford his loved ones — herself especially, the comforts 
to which they had been accustomed, that try as he would 
and did, he could not meet his necessary expenses, and 
the dreaded incubus of debt was pressing him sore, and 
turning a naturally genial, hopeful nature, to sadness 
and despondency, is it any wonder that she too was fast 
losing faith and hope ? Poor woman ! she was so ambitious 
for her darlings, and to see them deprived of the advan* 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


55 


tages of an education, and the opportunity to become 
fitted for the position in the world and society to which 
they were entitled by birth, was indeed a trial. But the 
children bore it all bravely — it is so much easier for the 
young to rise above misfortune — to 

“ Go forth to meet the shadowy future, 

Without fear, and with a brave l^art,” 

and their cheerfulness and hopefulness was all that kept 
her from utter despair. She had one of those esthetic 
natures that rejoice in the beautiful and luxurious, and 
her surroundings had more to do with her happiness than 
she liked to acknowledge ; but since their removal to 
the cottage where we find them, and her husband had 
constant employment and a fixed salary (although not 
very large), they had both been much happier and more 
hopeful. The boys, too, had good situations in a neighbor- 
ing city, obtained through Col. Stacey’s influence and 
exertions ; and Mrs. Williams gave what time she could 
spare to instructing her daughter in her studies. Winnie 
■was a delicate, graceful girl of fifteen, that might develop 
into a very pretty woman, with a more robust physique , 
but just now she was a source of anxiety to her mother, 
who was very fearful her darling would never be strong 
enough to endure poverty and hardships. Yet this frail 
girl was her mother’s greatest comfort, and her gentleness 
and sweetness soothed many a bitter moment, and checked 
her rebellious murmurings, On one occasion, when Mrs. 
Williams expressed herself harshly for the change in some 
of her fair-weather friends, Winnie said : 

0 mamma, you would not have me feel thus ; you 
have always taught me to have faith in our fellow- 
creatures. ” 

“ Don’t tell me what I have taught daughter, my faith 


56 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


had not been so shaken then, by the baseness of many 
whom I thought above being influenced by money. I 
fear I shall come to believe, that it is the only ‘ open sesame’ 
to the hearts of most people ; and that no success or good 
can be attained in this world without it.” 

“ But, mamma, it is not the ‘ open sesame’ to the heart 
of our best and truest Friend,” replied Winnie, gently 
and respectfully. 

<( No, thank God, it is not; and I am in danger of 
forgetting that , my sweet comforter, but I will try not 
to care if all others forsake, since my darlings are left 
me, and the “ Friend that sticketh closer than a brother.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

The next day they were all to dine at Stacey Hall, with 
the addition of Dr. Singleton’s household. The three 
families had for years observed this Christmas reunion, 
when the old people were living ; and now Dr. Singleton 
was the only one of that generation left, but it was still 
kept up ; and this year they were to hold the annual 
gathering at Stacey Hall. The day was all the most ex- 
acting could desire, and Elenor declared she had never 
seen such skies or felt such balmy air in mid- winter. 

“ Surely this is the Italy of the South,” she exclaimed, 
as they drove to the Hall. “ Florida cannot have a lovelier* 
climate ; if so, let others enjoy it, I am content with this.” 

“But like all lovely things, Elenor, it will not last ; we 
shall yet have cold and disagreeable weather enough before 
the winter is over to make you sigh for another Italy than 
this,” said Mrs. Stacey. They were going quite early, as 
Col. Stacey wished his sister-in-law to superintend some 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


57 


of the arrangements rather beyond Maumer Cinthy’s skill, 
who was a jewel in her way, and a most excellent house- 
keeper for one of her race. And she was devoted to “ Mass. 
Fred,” as she still called him ; and no persuasions could 
induce her to leave him, though several years had elapsed 
since the glorious (?) proclamation of freedom. 

Elenor had never been to the Hall, though she had 
frequently noticed its beauty in driving past it, and she 
was charmed with the appearance of things as they drove 
through the lawn, still green as emerald, and studded here 
and there with groups of live oak, that were very grateful 
to the eye in contrast with the bare forest trees. As they 
passed into the grounds in front and wound by a circular 
carriage-drive amid beautifully trimmed evergreens, the 
white serpentine walks gleaming here and there through 
the shrubbery, she could but exclaim : 

“ Oh, how lovely ! Does Col. Stacey have all this kept 
in such perfect order himself ? ” 

•'‘Certainly,” replied Mrs. Stacey, “and does a good 
deal with his own hands, I suspect.” 

“ It is wonderful how he can accomplish all this with- 
out the aid of woman, and her taste,” returned Elenor. 

“ Yes ; but I think his taste in everything quite as 
refined and exquisite as a woman’s. There he is ready to 
welcome us.” 

“ What a lovely place you have, Col. Stacey,” said 
Elenor, as he helped her from the carriage ; “the presiding 
genius of such a paradise should be a woman. I fear you 
cannot appreciate it so entirely as one of my sex would.” 

“Miss Fane, will you be kind enough to accept the 
position ?” he asked smiling, and bowing low before her. 

“No, indeed ; it should be some rare divinity to grace 
all this loveliness ; I should not like being eclipsed by my 
surroundings,” she replied gayly. 

“Elenor, I think you are caught in your own trap, 


58 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


though I must admit your finesse in getting out of it is 
worthy of a Machiavelli,” laughed Mrs. Stacey. 

“ I shall not let her off so easily,” returned Col. Stacey, 
“ but I am glad, Miss Elenor, you like the paradise of 
which you so cooly refuse to be the presiding genius. I 
hope to show it you in all its summer glory ; it may be you 
cannot still be obdurate.” 

“ Perhaps not ; I will wait and see ; do not accept my 
decision as final,” laughed Elenor, as she tripped lightly 
up the broad stone steps that led to the spacious portico. 

“I will not,” he said earnestly, as he ushered them into 
his pleasant library. “ Welcome to my sanctum , Miss Ele- 
nor, as its presiding genius, if you will.” 

“Col. Stacey, I wish I had not made that unfortunate 
speech,” replied Elenor pouting charmingly, and really be- 
ginning to feel annoyed at his raillery. 

“ Why, my dear young lady, do not regret it ; I have 
long been of your opinion, and after kindly suggesting an 
improvement in my menage, you will not assist me in 
carrying it out ; that is cruel,” and he smiled mischievously 
at her evident confusion. 

“ Hush, Fred ! and stop teasing Elenor. Come, I am at 
your service,” said Mrs. Stacey, as she left the room. The 
children had been taken off by Maumer Cinthy, to be pet- 
ted and fed with dainties from her pantry, and there Mrs. 
Stacey found them. 

“"Forgive me, if I have offended,” Col. Stacey lin- 
gered to say, and bending with courtly grace he took her 
hand and touched it lightly with his lips. “ Let us be 
friends, Elenor.” 

She looked up brightly, every trace of annoyance 
gone, and replied, “I was foolish to feel worried at "a jest 
that I had myself provoked. Col. Stacey, I have no one 
now to correct my faults. Oh, how I miss dear Sister 
Florine ; will you not take her place, and be my mentor ?” 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


59 


“ Bather a dangerous position for a bachelor ; but I 
will be more generous than you, and accept without de- 
mur.” he replied kindly. Elenor, safe from all danger 
herself, in her preoccupied feelings, never for a moment 
dreamed there could be any, to a man of Col. Stacey’s 
age, in this intimate and constant association with one so 
young as herself, for with all her rare personal loveliness, 
she was not the least vain ; so she smiled contentedly as he 
left her, and turned to explore the well-filled book-shelves. 
She had already seen many specimens, for Col. Stacey 
had often sent and carried her books, selected by his ma- 
ture judgment, as best suited for a foundation to a course 
of reading he had kindly offered to mark out for her. 
She had read few novels, and those only such as Sister 
Elorine had approved ; and she had begged Col. Stacey 
would not taboo them entirely. “ Certainly not,” he 
had said, “ a good novel occasionally is an advantage ; 
they are the flowers in the otherwise too sombre field 
of literature, or the delicate dessert after more substan- 
tial food ; but you must promise to read only those I 
select. ” 

“ I promise,” she had replied, “ but don’t make them too 
much like angel’s visits, or I may rebel.” Elenor soon 
spied “ The Initials,” and seating herself in the recess of 
the window, merely to look over it, she was soon absorbed 
in the interesting story of German life and customs. How 
long she had been thus engaged, she did not know, when 
a step and a voice aroused her. “ Where is the child ? I 
left her in here, Elenor ! she must have gone out into the 
shrubbery.” But just then Elenor rose and said : 

4 4 Here is the child , Col. Stacy, at your service,” 

“ Ah, how you startled me; I was so sure there was 
no one in the room. Excuse my calling you child, I am 
your mentor now, you know. But what have you there 
that has kept you so quiet ?” taking the book from her 


60 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


hand. “ A novel ! and you did not ask my permission tc 
read it,” he said gravely. 

“ No, but I intended to do so, and only meant to look 
over it ; but before I was aware, I became so interested 
that I forgot I was breaking my promise in the letter, 
if not in the spirit. But I may read it, may I not ? ” she 
asked eagerly. 

‘‘Yes ; there can be no objection to this,” he answered, 
all displeasure vanishing from his fine face at her ex- 
planation, “though it has been some time since I read it. 
But come into the drawing-room a moment ; I want to 
show you my mother’s portrait, which I think you resemble 
very much.” They crossed the wide hall, and he led 
her into a handsome room, elegantly furnished, though 
in not very modern style, as since his boyhood nothing 
had been altered or added. His sister-in-law had often 
begged him to refurnish it, but he said: “No, if I 
ever marry, it will be time enough ; if not, this suits me 
very well, and is valuable from association.” 

“What do you think of it?” he asked, as he threw 
open the blinds, and a flood of light streamed in on the 
picture. 

“Oh, it is beautiful ! Surely I cannot look like that,” 
exclaimed Elenor. 

“I think when you are older you will be even more 
like than now,” said Col. Stacey, looking from her flushed, 
eager face to the portrait ; and back again into the soft, 
lustrous *up-turned eyes. “This was painted by Sully, 
when he was in his prime, and my mother was in her 
matured beauty. She went to Philadelphia for the pur- 
pose, and I have often heard my father speak of the 
sensation her beauty created, and how many visited Sullv’s 
studio to see the beautiful Southerner, after the portrait 
was completed. But there is Walter, let us see what he 
thinks of it. Good morning, Walter; come in here a 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


61 


moment. Do you see any likeness in Miss Elenor to our 
mother’s portrait ? ” 

Major Stacey looked from one to the other several times 
before he replied, “ I do, most decidedly. I have always 
thought she resembled some one I had seen, and it puzzled 
me to think who, but, now the enigma is solved. Where 
is Lily, what does she say ?” 

“ Go find her Walter, and let us see if she can discover 
it ; she is in the dining-room I expect,” said his brother. 

“ This is a sweet face, Col. Stacey, who is it ? ” asked 
Elenor turning to another. 

“ That is our only sister, Mrs. Hamilton, of Baltimore. 
She resembles our father. That is his portrait, opposite 
my mother’s ; also painted by Sully, at the same time. 
Walter and I are said to be more like our mother.” 

Yes, I think you are,” assented Elenor. 

“ You might sooner be taken for her daughter than 
Ellen. Well, Lily,” as Mrs. Stacey came in followed by 
the children, who were curious to see what was wanted 
with their mamma, “ we want your opinion. Walter and 
I see a wonderful likeness in Miss Elenor to our mother’s 
portrait, what say you ?” and again was the young gov- 
erness subjected to the critical glances, under which she 
was growing a little nervous, for the thought rushed over 
her, almost like an inspiration, “ May I not be more nearly 
related to these people than they dream, or would like ? 
I must have relations somewhere ; and then the name 
(which they do not know) and the resemblance, which 
is certainly strange,” But her mental soliloquy was inter- 
rupted by Mrs. Stacey’s reply : 

“ I do not see that it is very striking ; there is perhaps 
an intangible something of resemblance in the two faces, 
but it is difficult to locate, and I should not have discovered 
it if the idea had not been suggested.” 

“ 0 Lilian ! how blind you are,” exclaimed her hus- 


62 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING 


band, “it is so very apparent; the more one looks at the 

two, the more the likeness grows on one.” 

“ One’s imagination, perhaps, Walter,” returned his wife, 
“but I know Elenor is tired of your scrutiny, and this cold 
room ; let us go into the library and have some music. I 
wonder why the Singletons do not* come ; they are very 
fashionable for a family re-union. But I hear a carriage 
now,” looking out of the window ; “ yes, there they are at 
last,” and Mrs. Stacey went out to welcome the tardy guests. 

“What a pleasure, Dr. Singleton, to see you and Aunt 
Mary, too. Come into the library and take Fred’s easy chair 
in the corner, and let me pet you to my heart’s content to- 
day ; it seems an age since I have enjoyed that privilege,” 
said Mrs. Stacey. 

“Yes, child, as much as you please, I feel just in the 
humor to appreciate it ; and — ” he added as the ladies 
came in, “ I do not get much now ; Ada and May are think- 
ing more of beaux, than petting their old father,” said the 
old doctor facetiously. 

“Fie, papa !” exclaimed Ada, “ you should not slander 
your own daughter. Col. Stacey, will you not defend me 
against the outrageous charges of my unnatural parent ?” 

“ I am sorry to say I cannot conscientiously do so, Miss 
Ada,” replied Col. Stacey, smiling. 

“Oh, you ungallant host ! how can you think a woman 
would waste her thoughts on such ‘ flat, stale, and unprofit- 
able’ subjects ? Elenor, will you not say a word in defence 
of your sex ?” 

“ I did not think any were accused, but you and May, 
and I have too much respect for your father’s opinion to 
differ with him,” laughed Elenor. 

“ Will nobody help me !” said Ada, in mock despair. 
“ Never mind, papa, I’ll be even with you — Mrs. Stacey did 
you know Miss Jemima was going to be your neighbor ?” 

“ Hush, daughter ! I’ll take back every word ; she never 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


63 


thinks of sweetheart’s, Lily. Oh no, she is to be my old- 
maid daughter, and pet and" coddle her old father,” said Dr. 
Singleton, eagerly. 

“No, papa, I shall leave that to Miss Jemima now ; I 
should hate to deprive her of the pleasure she so much 
covets.” 

“ Ada. if you mention that woman’s name again, I’ll 
cut you off without a shilling,” returned her father, laugh- 
ing in spite of himself. But Ada would not spare him, for 
she knew her father was more in earnest than jest, in dep- 
recating any allusion to Miss Jemima, for that lady had, 
in her despair at not securing a more youthful husband, 
been turning her attentions and efforts towards the old 
doctor, much to Ada’s amusement, who had teased him 
before now. until he hated the sound of her name. 

“Col. Stacey,” she went on, “you can rest in peace 
now, Miss Mima has thrown you over (I hope the fall will 
not prove fatal), she aspires to the dignity of step-mamma, 
and papa is fast yielding to her charms.” Of course, the 
tables were entirely and successfully turned on the old doc- 
tor, and the Stacey brothers laughed as long and as loudly 
as was consistent with the respect due their old friend and 
guest. 

“ Lily, you see I have no authority in my own family, 
even Aunt Mary is laughing slyly, and approving in her 
heart, Ada’s heartless retaliation on her old father,” said 
Dr. Singleton demurely. 

“ What could I do, cousin John ? you brought it on 
yourself,” replied gentle Miss Thornton. 

“ But why did you let Hugh go, Lily ?” continued Dr. 
Singleton, “he is the only absent one in our re-union, ex- 
cept Ellen, and she has long ceased to form a part of it.” 

“ I did my best to keep him doctor ; he pleaded an im- 
portant business engagement, as an excuse for leaving so 
soon,” Mrs. Stacey replied. 


64 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ Ah, it is sad to see how one and another drop out, 
and the circle grows smaller, year by year. I shall be the 
next link in the chain to break,” said "the old doctor sadly. 

“ Pooh, doctor, you are good for many years yet. I 
should not wonder if you dosed Lily’s and my grandchil- 
dren.” returned Major Stacey cheerfully, 

“ No, no, Walter, that is impossible ; but I am not mur- 
muring at growing old, on the contrary, 

‘ One sweetly solemn thought 
Comes to me o’er and o’er : 

I’m nearer my home to-day 
Than I’ve ever been before ; 

Nearer that bound of life 

Where we lay our burdens down ; 

Nearer leaving my cross, 

Nearer wearing my crown,’ ” 

repeated the good man reverently. And a solemn silence 
fell upon the little circle, so gay before, which Mrs. Stacey 
broke by saying : 

“ Elen or, we will have that music now, and Ada and 
May can join you in the singing.” 

“Col. Stacey, will not you and Dr. Brent lend your 
aid ?” asked Elenor, as she seated herself at the piano. “ I 
know you add music to your many other feminine accom- 
plishments, do you not ?” 

“I have been forced, in the absence of that ‘presiding 
genius,’” said Col. Stacey, with a meaning smile, “to cul- 
tivate some of the ‘ feminine accomplishments,’ as you are 
pleased to term them ; though I was under the impression 
that the greatest masters in music have been men ; and I 
do not know that there was anything especially feminine 
about Mozart, Handel, Mendelsshon, etc., unless the refin- 
ing influence of the divine art made them more gentle and 
tender in their natures, than others of the sterner sex.” 


THE SADDEST OF ALL LS LOVING. 


65 


“ I am more than convinced. Spare me !” laughed 
Elenor ; “ it is cruel to demolish me with my own weapons. 
But I am ready ; what shall we sing ?” 

* * * * * * * 

“ Dr. Singleton, 5 ’ asked Col. Stacey, when they were at 
dinner, “ do you discover any likeness in Miss Elenor to 
our mother ? You remember her when she was young ; 
and Walter and I think Miss Elenor very much like her 
portrait, which you know was painted when she was about 
thirty.” 

Yes,” replied the doctor unhesitatingly, pausing in 
his discussion of the tempting dessert, and calmly surveying 
Elenor, who was sitting nearly opposite him at table ; “ and 
I am glad you have given me the solution to the strangely 
familiar look that has haunted me whenever I have seen 
Miss Elenor. She is very much like what your mother was 
when your father brought her here, a young bride, from 
Virginia ; and I must say, Miss Elenor, she was the most 
celebrated beauty in all the country-side. But you know 
the old adage — ” 

“ Certainly, doctor, and I ant not vain enough I hope, 
to imagine myself as beautiful as the original of that por- 
trait must have been ; but I am glad, at least, to remind 
you all of one so loved,” said Elenor modestly. 

“ Perhaps you are a relation, without knowing it. 
Where were you born, and what was your mother’s maiden 
name, my dear ?” he asked. 

*'•1 do not know. I was too young when I lost my pa- 
rents, and was placed in the convent, to remember any- 
thing ; and the mother has persistently withheld all knowl- 
edge of them and my birthplace from me. But I believe 
I was born at the South, for since I have been here, it 
seems to me I have faint recollections of its sunny skies, 
balmy air, and lovely flowers, like some half-remembered 
dream, or something known and loved in a former state of 


66 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VINO . 


existence,” Elenor replied, her face and eyes glowing at 
the bare possibility that her intuitions might some day 
prove to be inspirations. 

“ And I’ll wager anything you are right, my dear ; one 
has only to look at you, to know you were born beneath 
Southern skies. But my dear child, I should demand, as 
my right, all she knows in regard to your antecedents,” said 
the old doctor with energy. 

“Ah, doctor, you do not know the mother, or you 
would not say that ; I think even Sister Florine is some- 
what afraid of her — I know she received letters from my 
guardian, but of their contents I was never informed, not 
even a message to say he remembered my existence. I 
cannot imagine her motive for such reticence in all that 
regards me.” 

“She has a motive, you may be sure, and not a good 
one either. I would compel her to reveal all she knows,” 
replied Dr. Singleton. 

“ How could I ? I would write to my guardian, but I 
do not know either his name or address ; and when Sister 
Florine — who has been my good angel — on my leaving the 
convent, demanded my guardian’s name and address, she as 
angrily and absolutely refused her, as she had me, saying 
he did not wish either known by me, or anyone else," for 
the present.” 

“Well, it is astonishing! I would appeal to the 
courts.” urged the indignant doctor. 

“ What could a poor lone girl like me expect to accom- 
plish ? Ho, I am only too glad to be free ; and I fear such 
active proceedings might place me again in her power, 
which I deprecate above all things. She said she would 
inform my guardian that I had left in defiance of her 
approval, but I don’t believe she has done so, or he is 
very indifferent as to my movements, for he has given 
no sign that he has been enlightened. But I am too 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VINO. 67 

happy now to think or care much about the matter, and 
shall wait patiently until he chooses to reveal himself . ” 

Elenor had never said as much about herself before ; 
and, with the innate delicacy of refined people, the 
Stacey’s had never questioned her about what she did not 
voluntarily communicate, but Dr. Singleton’s age and the 
conversation which had grown out of the tantalizing 
resemblance, gave him license, which was certainly not 
idle curiosity or vulgar inquisitiveness on his part ; and 
all were interested and sympathetic listeners to the facts 
elicited by this accidental conversation. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“ Lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone ; 
the flowers appear on the earth ; the time of the singing 
of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in 
the land.” No more beautiful or striking description of 
the joyous advent of Spring can be found than this, from 
that “ song of songs ” by Israel’s wisest king, and, also, 
sweetest poet ! And how like a refrain the words rang 
in the ears of sweet Winnie Williams, who had read them 
for her morning lesson, and now, as she busied herself 
among her flowers, and heard the “ singing of birds” in 
every tree and shrub, impressed themselves on her mind 
with new beauty and significance. It was a lovely April 
day that seemed to mock with its brightness and glad- 
ness the sad occasion for which it had been set apart, 
for it was the twenty-sixth — memorial day, and Winnie 
was gathering flowers to weave into garlands to decorate 
the graves of the dead soldiers. There was to be an 


68 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


address at the village, by young Temple Gwvnn, and 
Winnie was going with Mrs. Stacey and Elenor to hear 
it; and though she had no loved one among the fallen 
brave, yet she wished to offer her tribute of gratitude to 
those who had died so nobly in defence of her country 
and theirs. 

Winnie had been made very happy by the opportunity 
of taking lessons in music from Miss Fane, and Col. 
Stacey had insisted on sending the piano from the Hall 
to the cottage, as he said it would be useless for her to 
take lessons if she had no in^ffument. and when Mrs. 
Williams objected to being laid under such deep obliga- 
tions, replied, “ Why it is rusting out for want of use, 
and I shall be the one obliged, by Winnie’s using it ; and 
when you marry, little girl, I will give it to you as a bridal- 
present,” he said, laying his hand caressingly on Winnie’s 
nut-brown hair. 

“ Oh, Col. * Stacey, I shall wear it out before then,” 
laughed Winnie. And not only in this instance had she 
been the recipient of Col. Stacey’s kindness, but many 
a mysterious gift, dear to a young girl, found its way 
into her possession — while she did not find it difficult to 
guess who was the generous donor. 

Col. Stacey had also insisted on paying Elenor for 
Winnie’s lessons, but she refused decidedly to be com- 
pensated, saying : “ Do let me have the pleasure of doing 
a little good in the world, when you have the opportunity 
of doing so much,” and he was forced to yield ; for he 
knew from his own experience, how far better it is to give 
than to receive. And Elenor had learned to love her 
bright, gentle pupil very much, and her untiring industry 
and rapid progress made it indeed a pleasure, rather than 
a trouble, to instruct her. As for Winnie, she fairly 
worshipped Elenor, and honestly believed that there could 
be no other two in the world, at all comparable to her 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


69 


and Col. Stacey. She said to her mother one day : 

Mamma, I don’t know how Miss Elenor and Col. Stacey 
can help loving each other, they are both so good and 
noble ; and I do believe he loves Miss Elenor, but I think 
she only loves him as a dear friend.” We shall see how 
far Winnie was right. 

And how had Elenor spent the dreary months that 
were now past ? for there had been many a gloomy day, 
with cold and rain enough to make even our bright, 
cheerful heroine long for the Spring-time ; and the thought 
would intrude — “He is coming with the summer — hasten, 
hasten, summer days, and bring my love to me ! ” But 
much of the tedium had been relieved and brightened 
by Col. Stacey’s presence, and when the weather would 
permit, he would insist on Elenor’s going out on horse- 
back, and would himself accompany her. And as the 
Spring advanced, many a little excursion and impromptu 
party was he instrumental in getting up, mainly for 
her pleasure, for Elenor had her whole afternoons and 
Saturdays free from school duties, which but for the efforts 
of this kind friend must have passed rather wearily. 

Elenor’s was a grateful loving nature, and she could 
but grow to prize very dearly the friendship of one so 
every way worthy, and who seemed to study only her 
happiness and pleasure. Col. Stacey knew there was 
danger to him in the society of this bright, joyous young 
creature, but still he braved it, and would bring his offer- 
ings of rare flowers, entertaining books, and such cheerful, 
intelligent conversation, that he was always welcome. 

Mrs. Stacey said she did not know what had come 
over Fred, she never saw a man so changed, and would 
say she believed it was all owing to Elenor’s influence ; 
and in her heart she was glad, for she hoped that matters 
would so arrange themselves that there would no longer 
be any danger to Hugh. She had believed for some 


TO 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


time that Fred was doing all he could to win Elenor to 
love him. and she never dreamed for a moment, that 
a poor friendless governess could refuse so eligible a 
parti , as Col. Stacey certainly was. Beside she did not 
know that Hugh was already beyond her influence, and 
her scheming, or that 'her governess’ rebellious little 
heart was filled with the image of her handsome intracta- 
ble brother. But so it was, for Elenor’s love, from its 
very repression and concealment, had grown and strength- 
ened until it pervaded every fibre of her passionate na- 
ture — that all her life had had so few objects on which 
to lavish its pent-up wealth of tenderness and devotion. 

jjC sj« J|< 4! JjC 

“ Miss Elenor, I call Gwvnn’s effort a fine thing of the 
kind,” said Col. Stacey that afternoon, when they had re- 
turned from the village, where they had seen the last of the 
sadly- pleasing honors paid to those whose blood had been 
poured out, as they believed, on the altar of liberty. I 
have always thought, as he does, that there is a great deal 
of mistaken philanthropy in erecting costly monuments to 
our dead soldiers, whom it cannot benefit, and perhaps leav- 
ing their wives and children to suffer, if not to starve — not 
but what I think the dead should be honored, but that I 
think it of such infinitely greater importance that the liv- 
ing should first be cared for. This struck me as especially 
fine ; I think I can repeat it. ‘1 speak,’ he said, ‘ with a 
voice too low to be heard beyond to-day. My words are too 
humble to live longer than the setting sun ;"but if I could 
speak with a voice that would ring through all the years, I 
would plead for a visible and lasting token of vourrespect 
and love for the families of the dead men buried here ; and 
while you tell to the world your sorrows, your love, your 
unchanging faith in them, remember it is a ghastly mock- 
ery, a shivering ghost of sentiment, if you fold vour arms 
in scorn, and harden your hearts against the wail of their 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


71 


widows and the cry of their orphans. You rear costly 
stones above the father’s grave, while the children have 
not where to lay their heads. You scatter garlands of 
bright flowers over the soldier’s tomb, while' the hearts 
and lives of his loved ones may be Saharas, barren and 
cheerless, gladdened by no flowers of love or charity. 
You sound brave music around these mounds, which may 
■grate harshly on the poverty-stricken lives of the living. 
You build here annually your mausoleum of love and praise, 
while away yonder stands the wretched shanty of the sol- 
dier’s widow, serenaded by the winds, and deluged by the 
driving rain ; and year after year your orators let fall sil- 
very sentences in the midst of children orphaned, unedu- 
cated, and uncared for.’* Now, that is what I call elo- 
quent, and true as eloquent. I had no idea G-wynn was 
such a sharp fellow. I tell you it beats any memorial ad- 
dress I have heard from older and more celebrated orators.” 

‘•Why, Col. Stacey, I do believe you have repeated it 
verbatim ,” exclaimed Elenor, “ how on earth could you 
remember it Y Yes, I quite agree with you, it is fine ; but 
I knew Mr. Gwynn was very smart — you know he and I 
are great friends.” 

“No, I did not know you were such very great friends. 
I hope it is nothing more than friendship, eh, ma belle? 
And that is rather a dangerous sentiment between two in- 
teresting people of opposite sexes. Who is it says friendship 
is love fully fledged and ready to fly on the first fair day ?” 

“I do not know, and I do not believe it. I think 
there may be pure and sincere friendship, without a 
thought of love ; and I think there is another sentiment 
that is often entertained between persons of different sexes, 
that is even more nearly akin to love, yet is not, and never 

* I am indebted to a young friend for this quotation, which I 
think deserves to be written in letters of gold. 


72 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


could be love — f a sentiment too tender for friendship, too 
spirituelle for affection’ as somebody else says. And I be- 
lieve it possible, for I think my feelings towards Temple 
Gwynn and his for me are of that nature,” said Elenor 
earnestly. 

“My dear young lady, do not deceive yourself, such a 
feeling is a dangerous guest, and will turn to love some 
fine day and fly away with you and Mr. Temple,” returned 
Gol. Stacey, really concerned, for he did not think his fa- 
vorite. his special pet and darling (he knew now she was 
becoming this to him) entertained even so warm a feeling 
as this for any man, and it sent a thrill of fear through the 
strong, reserved heart of our noble colonel ; and I do not 
know but he might have then and there put his fate to the 
touch to win or lose it all ; but Mrs. Stacey came out just 
then — they were on the colonnade — and said : 

“ Elenor, I think you and Fred had better come in, the 
air is growing chill, and tea is ready — you will stay, Fred ? 
Walter will be in when the bell rings. Fleet, Wattle’s grey- 
hound hurt her foot someway ; Walter thinks a snake must 
have bitten her, and he is making Caesar bathe it with 
arnica.” 

“ No, Lily, I must go ; Chester is champing his bit im- 
patiently now, thinking of his oats. Good evening Miss 
Elenor, don’t forget our ride to-morrow afternoon. Good 
night Lily, tell Walter he can send for those cotton seeds in 
the morning ; I told Williams to let the servant have them.” 

Just then the tea-bell rang, and Mrs. Stacey and Elenor 
went into the dining-room, as Col. Stacey cantered down 
the avenue, regretting his sister-in-law’s inopportune ap- 
pearance. 


CHAPTER IX. 


May, fairest, sweetest daughter of the jocund Spring, 
had almost passed away, in her tender grace and beauty, 
before Col. Stacey had again resolved to end his tantalizing 
hopes and fears. “ I will know the worst or the best,” he 
said to himself on this soft, love-inspiring day, as he sat in 
dreamy idleness at his favorite window, looking out to- 
wards the roof-tree that sheltered the lonely girl to whom 
his heart went out with a strange, inexpressible yearning, 
he thought was love. “ I know,” he mused, "my feelings 
differ widely from those I cherished for my lost darling, 
but then a man can only experience that sort of love once 
in his life, and I love Elenor as much as I shall ever love 
again ; and if there is a good deal of the fatherly element 
in my affection, that is owing, doubtless, to the difference 
in our age. She is so lonely and unprotected in the world ! 
I long to shield her from its coldness and indifference, and 
from that rascally guardian ; and I will do it, too, if she 
will let me ! How §he would brighten my lonely home, 
and grace it, too ! She is a born lady — no mistaking that ; 
and what do I care for the mystery of her birth ? ” 

With Col. Stacey, to debide was to act ; and that after- 
noon he found himself at Aspendale with an object in view. 
After sitting awhile on the colonnade with his brother, El- 
enor came out, and he asked her to walk with him ; which 
was no unusual occurrence, and did not excite surprise 
either in her or Major Stacey. She willingly assented ; 
and after tying on her garden-hat, which hung in the hall, 
he led her towards the family burying-ground, by a pretty, 
shaded walk through the grove. Elenor had often walked 


74 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


there by the same path, but never before with him. It was 
a sweet, retired spot, awakening sad but pleasing emotions, 
rather than a feeling of dread and repulsion, and she knew 
well each quiet resting-place of the silent dead. But the 
one that always possessed for her the greatest interest and 
attraction, was a tall white shaft, with its broken, half- 
blown lily bud, so exquisitely carved that Tenerani might 
have envied the obscure artist, who seemed in this “ magic 
crystallization” of nature, to have caught the highest in- 
spiration — the divine afflatus — of art. Often had she stood 
beside it, her eyes scarce seeing its pure, exquisite beauty, 
for the tears that filled them as she thought of her — 

“ The fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,” 

under the green mound — the gentle, lovely Maud Legare. 

Straight up to this Col. Stacey led her, and seating her 
on a rustic bench in front of it, took his place by her side. 
After a little silence, he said : 

“ Elenor, here sleeps the love of my youth and earlier 
manhood. I loved her as I think few men love in this 
world ; but she was too pure for earth, and G-od took her 
to a more congenial clime. Since then my life had lost its 
charm. I never thought to love again, and my aim has 
been so to live that I might meet mv darling in that *' bet- 
ter land,’ where there is no parting.” He paused, ^overcome 
by his emotions. Elenor was deeply touched, and said 
softly : 

‘•lam very sorry for you, Col. Stacey, but you should 
not let this loss spoil your whole life ; is not that wrong ? — 
is it not murmuring against God ? ” 

“ Yes,” he replied, regaining his composure, “ I have 
murmured, and suffered my selfish repinings to isolate me 
too much from my fellow-creatures. But that is past, I am 
happier now than I ever thought to be again in this world, 
and to you, dear Elenor, I owe the change ; you have 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


76 


brightened my life more than I can tell you, for you have 
taught me that I can, that I do love again — if not with the 
fervor and intensity of youth, still with true and deep devo- 
tion. For thus do I love you, dearest, and it is in your 
power to restore my lost happiness, and renew the hopes of 
my earlier years. Will you do this, Elenor — will you be 
my wife, sweet one, and brighten my lonely home for me ? ” 
and he drew her gently within his encircling arm, but El- 
enor was too much astonished to resist, or to reply. 

“ Will you not answer me, Elenor ? Can you not return 
my loye ? ” he asked again. 

“ Oh, Col. Stacey ! I never dreamed of this ; I never 
thought you cared for me in that way. I am very, very 
sorry — for I cannot be your wife,” she said at last, and 
leaning her head on his shoulder, she burst into tears. 

“ Hush, hush ! do not weep ; but why cannot you be 
my wife ? Cannot you love me well enough ? Am I too 
old and ugly ? I had fondly hoped you were learning to 
love me a little, dear Elenor.” 

“ I do — I do,” she said, eagerly, “very much, but not 
in that way — not as a woman should love the man she mar- 
ries. I hope it will not grieve you much that I cannot ; 
you have been so good to me, rfnd I feel like a most un- 
grateful wretch to give you a moment’s pain. Oh, forgive 
me ! ” she pleaded. He did not answer her ; he was trying 
to summon all his fortitude to bear this second blow he 
saw was falling. 

Col. Stacey was not a vain man, but he knew he was 
still comparatively vouijg and fine-looking, and he had 
striven to win Elenor’s love, and had failed. Why ? Did 
she love some one else ? After a little, he said : 

“ Child, there is nothing to forgive ; ‘ is human love the 
growth of human will ?’ And I must try to love you only 
as a dear little niece, since you will not suffer a nearer and 
dearer love.” 


76 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


Oh, how I wish you were indeed my uncle — may I not 
love you as one ?” she asked, looking up into the grave, 
kind face, and smiling brightly through her tears. 

“ I ‘ ask for bread, and you give me a stone but I sup- 
pose I shall have to be content with that,” he answered, not 
very joyously. 

“ Oh, I am so sorry ; please don’t look so sad, or you 
will make me really unhappy,” returned Elenor, her face 
growing serious again. 

After a rather uncomfortable silence, in which Elenor 
caught absently at the slender, graceful branches of a weep- 
ing willow that drooped over them, and Ool. Stacey made 
hieroglyphics, with the end of his cane, on the sanded 
walk, he said suddenly : 

“ Elenor, will you answer me one question ? I know I 
have no right to ask it — but for my own healing, tell me — 
Do you love another ?” 

“ I do. Col. Stacey, but ask me no more.” 

“Half confidence is no confidence, Elenor ; tell me all 
— I can bear it ; is it Hugh ? and has he told you that he 
loved you ?” 

Elenor crimsoned a little as she replied, “ Of course 
he has, or I should not permit myself to love him, at least, 
I should not acknowledge it to anyone. Col. Stacey keep 
my secret, you have forced it from me ; and I would not 
have Mrs. Stacey know it for the world !” 

“You may trust me. Elenor. Well, as I am not to be 
anything dearer, make me your father confessor, and tell 
me all about it. Was it while he vyas here, or has he writ- 
ten ?” 

“ It was the night of the Christmas festival.” 

“ He was in a hurry, certainly, and determined to fore- 
stall any other claims to your regards. Are you engaged 
to him ?” 

“Ho ; there is no formal engagement. In fact, I gave 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 77 

him very little hope, for I did not know my own heart 
then ; besides, I feared his sister would condemn such a 
seep, and I did not like the idea of a clandestine engage- 
ment ; soul have tried to forget him, but I cannot. I would 
not even let him write to me, and — he thought it very 
hard,” said Elenor, with crimsoned cheeks, and downcast 
eyes, at thus being almost compelled to divulge her sweet 
cnerished, secret to another. 

You have acted nobly, and it will all come right ; 
you must be happy, dear child, and I, who have borne so 
much, can surely bear this,” Col. Stacey replied, with an 
effort to seem cheerful. 

Say that you will not mind ! that you do not care, my 
dear, kind friend. I am so sorry to wound you !” exclaimed 
Elenor, earnestly. 

“ I cannot say that with truth yet, but resignation will 
come with time. Give me a kiss to heal the wound you 
have made. I don’t think Hugh would object, and I don’t 
care if he does and Ool. Stacey drew her to him, and 
pressed his first kiss on the pure, sweet lips of the lonely 
orphan he would have shielded from every care, in his 
strong protecting arms ; the first kiss of many that he 
took unrebuked from those same lips — but that was long 
afterwards. And in that future, how he rejoiced that 
events had been shaped and overruled by a merciful guid- 
ing Hand that cannot err. 

They walked home almost in silence, Elenor thinking of 
Hugh’s last request, 4 4 Let no man press these lips until we 
meet again but she was comforted by the thought, that 
if he knew the circumstances under which it was permitted, 
he would forgive her. Ool. Stacey had been such a true, 
untiring friend, and she was so sorry to give pain to the 
noble, generous heart. But even she did not know all it 
had cost him to give her up, for he had, for her sake, con- 
cealed much of the disappointment it was to him. He left 


78 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


her at the door, with a kind “ Good evening ! don’t worry, 
it will all come right, after a while and turned his face 
to his lonely home — more lonely now that this cheering 
hope was shattered and dead ; and he must a^ain take up 
the tangled web of life, with its dull warp still unbright- 
ened by the golden woof of woman’s beauty and woman’s 
love ! 


CHAPTER X. 

Strong as Col. Stacey was — and he was stronger, as 
well as nobler, than most men — still, he was human ; and 
he shrank from meeting Elenor again, until he had con- 
quered somewhat this love, that would not at once subside 
into mere friendship and calm affection. But there was 
no tinge of bitterness or resentment towards the girl he 
had failed to win, and he resolved still to be her friend, and 
champion, if needed ; and as a first step — and because it 
would divert him from his own disappointment — he decided 
to make a long contemplated visit to Savannah, and learn 
for himself if Hugh’s love and intentions were genuine and 
serious. For he determined, if he could not win her, no 
other should trifle with her true, honest heart. So next 
morning Maumer Cinthy was quite upset, when he ordered 
her to pack his valise, and get things in readiness for his 
departure ; and during the day he sent a note to his sister- 
in-law saying he would take any letters or packages she 
might like to send to Hugh. But Mrs. Stacey and Elenor 
had walked to Roselawn soon after dinner, and Ada would 
not suffer them to return until after tea ; so when they 
reached home Elenor went up to her room at once, and did 
not hear the news until next morning at breakfast, when 
Mrs. Stacey said : 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 79 

“Elenor, did you know Fred had gone to Savannah ?” 

“ No ; when did he go ?” she asked, in surprise. 

“ This morning ; I found a note last night, when I re- 
turned, telling me he was going, and offering to take letters 
or packages to Hugh. Walter and I have been wondering 
what could have taken him off so suddenly.” 

“You saw him last, Miss Elenor,” said Major Stacey ; 
“did he mention his going to you ?” 

“No, he did not,” replied Elenor, with a slight in- 
crease of color (Elenor blushed very easily), “ but is it so 
unusual a thing for him to do ? ” 

“ Not at all : he frequently visits Savannah — but gen- 
erally speaks of it several days before ; it is only his sudden 
determination that puzzles me. I’ll ride over and see Wil- 
liams, Lily, perhaps he can throw some light on the mat- 
ter,” said Major Stacey, as he rose from the table and left 
the room. 

Mrs. Stacey’s keen eye had noted Elenor’s confusion 
and guessed its cause ; and she said, as she followed her 
into the hall : “ Come into the sitting-room, Elenor, it is 
some time before school hour,” and when she closed the 
door, Elenor knew what was coming. “ I do not mean to 
force your confidence, or pry into your affairs, my dear, 
but did not Fred propose to "you the other evening, when 
you went for a walk ? ” 

“ Mrs. Stacey,” replied Elenor, with dignity, “ I do not 
feel at liberty to divulge what is another’s secret, as well as 
my own, if it were so.” 

“ Pshaw, child, it is all in the family, and of course 
Fred will tell us : but I believe you rejected him, and that 
is the reason he has left home. Now, my object is not idle 
curiosity, but to advise you in the matter, if you have been 
mad enough to refuse him ; but, surely, you did not ?” 

“ I did, Mrs. Stacey, since you will know,” said Elenor, 
striving to be calm and respectful under this catechising. 


80 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ Child ! do you know you have thrown away the best 
chance in the State ? You are certainly blind to your own 
interest ; why, Fred could marry any girl in the country — 
but why did you reject him, may I ask ?” 

“ Because I did not love him, Mrs. Stacey, as I must 
love the man I marry,” again Elenor answered obediently. 

“ All romantic nonsense, child ! you ought to love him ; 
how could you help it, when he has been so kind to you ? 
I am astonished !” 

“ I know and feel all you can say on that score, Mrs. 
Stacey ; and that is what made it very hard to refuse one 
I esteem so highly, and who has been such a true, good 
friend : but I could not wrong him so much as to marry 
him without the highest love of which I am capable.” 

“I must say, Elenor, you have done a very unwise 
thing — such offers as Fred Stacey are not to be had every 
day ; he is the noblest man I ever knew, and would make 
any woman happy. I cannot understand it — unless you 
love some one else.” 

“ I know how good and noble he is, and how worthy 
any woman’s love, and I hate to seem such an ungrateful 
wretch.” Here Elenor broke down and cried a little, ignor- 
ing the latter part of Mrs. Stacey’s remark. 

“ Well, don’t -cry, Elenor ; I only hope you may not 
live to repent it. I can but feel provoked that you will not 
see and appreciate the advantages of such a marriage” for 
a poor governess, Mrs. Stacey could not help thinking, but 
she was too well bred to say so ; and she was forced to end 
the interview, not much wiser than before, as to who Elenor 
did love. But she knew she must have left the convent 
‘‘fancy free,” then who could it be but Hugh ? Hot Temple 
Gwynn, she was sure. Poor woman ! she saw her castle dis- 
solving in air, in regard to Hugh and Ada, and we must for- 
give her if she felt a little hardly towards Elenor, that she 
could not take Fred, and end her fears at once and forever. 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


81 


“ It was not a happy day for the young governess — 
the children had never seemed so stupid, or the monotony 
of the school-room so irksome. She was troubled that 
Col. Stacey had taken her refusal so much to heart, that 
he felt it necessary to absent himself awhile from her 
presence; and she could not help thinking, ” perhaps I 
have been foolish, as Mrs. Stacey says; how do I know 
that Hugh loves me still ; it may have been but a passing 
fancy, that he has e’er this forgotten ? And it is surely 
better to be the mistress of Stacey Hall, than a poor gov- 
erness ; and I know Col. Stacey would devote his life 
to making me happy ; besides, if Hugh is still faithful, we 
shall have no end of trouble. They will all hate me for 
coming between him and Ada ; but how can I give him 
up to her, my bonnv, blue-eved lover ? I cannot, cannot 
do it!” And so Elenor’s thoughts wandered from her 
duties, and she was sad and preoccupied, longing for the 
hour of release, when she might be alone. 

Mamma,” said Maud, when they were at last free, 
“ Miss Elenor has been real cross this morning. Hasn’t 
she Wattie ?” 

“Y-e-s,” replied Wattie, rather reluctantly, as though 
he were not exactly sure ; but having admitted so much, 
he continued more confidently, “ And I don’t love her any 
more, and I’m going to tell uncle Hugh, ’cause now it’s 
her ain’t good to us.” 

Hush, mv pets, I expect you have been naughty ; 
and perhaps Miss Elenor has something to trouble her 
that you do not understand,” said their mother, a little 
compunctious, as she thought of their morning interview, 
and felt that the young girl was not so much to blame, 
if she could not love Fred ; “ but then, if she would only 
not love Hugh, I could forgive her.” 

“ I expect she has, mamma, for she looked sorry about 
somethin’, and I saw her wipin’ her eyes ; she’s alioays 


82 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


sweet and good before — you know she is, Wattie.” Maud 
replied, with the quickly changing mood of childhood ; 
and already repentant, for her harsh accusation. “ Let’s 
go and get her a pretty bouquet, Wattie,” she continued, 
you know she loves flowers.” 

“ Well ; and I do lore her, Maudie, and I won’t tell 
uncle itugh, ’cause maybe he won’t give us them pretty 
things he promised,” said the more calculating Wattie, 
whose views and opinions always took their tinge and bias 
from his sister’s. 

As the children returned ladened with Mrs. Stacey’s 
choicest roses, they met their teacher at the door equipped 
for a walk. “ Oh, thank you ! Maud and Wattie,” she 
exclaimed brightly, “ they are very sweet, but I am going 
out now ; I will put this lovely de Malmaison in my 
brooch, and you may run up stairs, and see how prettily 
you can arrange the rest in my vase, by the time I return.” 

Yes, Miss Elen or, we’ll fix them nicely. Come along, 
Wattie,” said Maud diverted from her usual desire to 
accompany her teacher ; and which Elenor generally grati- 
fied, but this afternoon, she wished to be alone in her 
walk and quiet her perturbed feelings ; and thinking also 
that a sight of Mrs. Williams and Winnie (who always 
welcomed her so heartily) would aid this consummation, 
she took the little footpath that led to the cottage. N The 
afternoon was charming, and the fragrant woods and 
meadows so peaceful — even the song of the birds, and 
the soft tinkle of the little brook, and the pleasant sun- 
shine, had something inexpressibly soothing and restful , 
as well as cheering, to her sad heart. Elenor’s tempera- 
ment was one of those that are much affected by the 
depressing or enlivening influences of nature, and all this 
sweetness and beauty of the May stole imperceptibly into 
her soul, and she was comforted. When she reached the 
cottage, her bright “ Good afternoon ! ” had much of the 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


83 


clear, merry ring of her usual greeting, in its tone ; and 
Mrs. Williams replied : 

“ I am very glad to see you, even more so than usual, 
if that is possible ; for I am feeling rather blue to-day, 
and you always cheer me up somehow — Winnie, dear, 
put that rocker by Miss Elenor’s favorite window. See 
how pretty everything is looking, and you have not been 
here for so long !” 

“ No ; I told Winnie to tell you I was very busy. Fve 
been trying to get through with some rather heavy read- 
ing and study I had marked out to be finished before 
the lazy summer days come. But this is beautiful !” 
looking out of the window. “ What a magician Spring is, 
and how lovely the Hall looks now ; everything clothed 
in green and brightened by this soft sunshine ! But why 
are you troubled, especially to-day, Mrs. Williams ? I fear 
I shall prove but a Job’s comforter;” and Elenor turned 
her gaze again into the room, and her eyes lingered lov- 
ingly on her favorite gentle Winnie. 

“ Well, you know,” replied Mrs. Williams, “ I’ve been 
scrimping and saving to give Winnie the advantages of 
one year at the institute, and had hoped so much she 
could enter this spring (you know she cannot go in 
winter) but find, I shall have to give it up, and it is such 
a disappointment. I ought to be content if she can be 
fitted by your kind instructions, to teach music, but there 
is so much more that she ought to learn, and I have 
grown so rusty in my text-books, that I am not competent 
to instruct her in many of the higher branches. I thought 
her brothers might be able to aid us in sending her, 
but they write, that it takes every cent they can make 
to pay "board and clothe themselves decently — they are 
just beginning, you know, so I shall have to study anew 
that hardest of lessons to poor human nature — woman’s 
nature especially, ‘ to labor, and to wait.’ ” 


84 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ Yes, it is hard, I suppose, but there are man}” things 
that you are not called to bear, dear Mrs. Williams, 
that you would find harder than not being able to send 
Winnie to school,” replied Elenor cheeringlv, as she softly 
stroked Winnie’s delicate little hand, as she held it in hers. 

; ‘Yes, that is true, I know, returned Mrs. Williams, 

“ but I am often tempted to believe with a dear, good aunt 
of mine, who lost nearly everything by the war, and said to 
me in speaking of her reduced circumstances,. *' Lucy, pov- 
ertv is the greatest curse that can befall one in this life ’ — 
they had been wealthy.” 

“ I do not agree with your good aunt. That it is a great 
misfortune, I’ll admit ; but not the greatest, by any means. 
Why just think of it, disgrace, dishonor, crime, loss of 
loved ones, any of these are far greater calamities than loss 
of fortune ! And none of these have you had to endure, dear 
Mrs. Williams ; but suppose God had taken your husband, 
or one of your dear children instead of your property, 
which could you have given up most cheerfully ?” 

“ Oh, my dear, don’t mention it ! take all — everything 
but spare my heart’s treasures, would have been my prayer. 
No, thank God ! He has left me my dear ones, and no 
taint of dishonor or dishonesty clings to my husband or 
sons ! Yes, I have much to be thankful for — still to feel 
that you are ignored on account of poverty, by those who 
are your inferiors in birth and culture, is hard to bear.” 

But those who ignore you, simply because you are not 
rich, are not worth regretting, that is the way I feel about 
it ; and you know, I am only a poor governess, who has to 
work for a living,” replied Elenor. 

‘•'Ah, child, you are young and pretty, everything falls 
lightly on the young. And you have not children to be 
educated and fitted for the position in society to which they 
are entitled, and which only education can give them, since 
our riches have taken wings.” 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


S5 


“ I tell mamma, Miss Elenor, that as for my education, 
I can read and study at home ; and Col. Stacey is so kind 
in giving and lending me books, that I can easily make up 
for the deficiency if I will, and I mean to try,” said Winnie 
bravely. 

“ Certainly you can, Winnie, and I am glad to hear you 
speak so hopefully. All the education one gets at our best 
schools is of little use without the self-improvement which 
is gained by after reading and study. I know this, by my 
own experience, and you can become sufficiently well edu- 
cated without entering a school-room again, if you will 
pursue the plan you propose ; but I must go, it is getting 
late.” 

“ By the way, Miss Elenor, did you know Col. Stacey 
had gone to Savannah ?” asked Mrs. Williams. 

Yes, he sent Mrs. Stacey a note to say he was going. 
Do you know how long he will be absent, Mrs. Williams ?” 

“ Only a week or two, I think he told Mr. Williams. 
But must you go ?” 

“ Yes, it is time, I think. Come, walk a little way with 
me, Winnie.” 

“ Come often, Miss Elenor, you’ve done me a world of 
good ; I always feel brighter after your visits,” said Mrs. 
Williams. 

4 4 Thank you ! I will. Good evening !” 


CHAPTER XI. 

Hugh Legake was sitting in his office, smoking a cigar 
— for it was after his early tea and hardly dusk yet — and 
puzzling his brain over a knotty law point, bearing on a case 
he had in hand, when the shrill whistle of the A and 


86 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 

S Railroad reached his ears, and by some law of associa- 

tion,' his thoughts flew with telegraphic swiftness to Aspen- 
dale and to the girl he loved — to the sweet, stolen kiss, and 
the tearful face as he caught a last glimpse of it, and that 
he longed so intensely to see again. Not that he had not 
thought of that same fair face every day since they parted ; 
but to-night it came to him with a thrill, that the time was- 
drawing near when he hoped to look into those sweet, dark 
eyes again, and read an answering love to that which failed 
his own soul ; and as the weary mariner more eagerly yearns 
for a sight of land as he draws nearer and more near its lovely 
beckoning shores, so did Hugh yearn for a sight of the 
sweet face that had bewitched him. He shut his book, and 
throwing back his head, with its golden locks, that Elenor 
thought so beautiful, closed his eyes and gave himself up 
to pleasant dreams. A heavy step on the stairs roused him 
at last, and without ceremony the door was thrown open ; 
it was already ajar, and looking up he saw Col. Stacey. 
Bounding from his chair, he grasped his hand with a 
“ Hello ! Fred, did you drop from the clouds ?” 

“No ; I came (not) by chance, the usual way/’ replied 
Col. Stacev, demurelv. 

“ Have a chair. Well, I am glad to see you, at any rate 
—left all well, I hope ? Have a cigar— real Havanas ; rather 
expensive for a poor lawyer, you will sav,” rattled Hugh, in 
the exuberance of his joy at seeing his friend, for he was 
sincerely attached to the grave, elderly man, of whom he 
stood a little in awe as well. 

“ Yes, I left all well,” replied Col. Stacey, lighting his 
cigar. “ I came off rather suddenly— did not think of 
coming until the day before I left.” 

“ May I flatter myself that your anxiety to see me 
brought you, or more important business ?” asked Hugh 
gayly. 

“ Both ; I wished to see you especially, and to divert 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


87 


my mind from the greatest trial I have had for a long 
while. ” 

“Have you proposed to Miss Jemima and been re- 
jected ? You do look a little used up, since I have time to 
observe you.” 

“No, I have not proposed to Miss Jemima, but I have 
proposed to Miss Fane.” 

“ The thunder you have !” exclaimed Hugh, looking the 
picture of astonishment. 

“ Yes ; have you any objection ? What is it to you, 
pray ?” returned Col. Stacey. 

“ I have ; most serious objection. And it is everything 
to me, at least her answer is. What was it, may I ask ?” 

“ What do you suppose it would be to a man of my 
many attractions, personal, mental, pecuniary, etc.?” re- 
plied Col. Stacey, willing to tease his successful rival a 
little. 

“Fred ! you are torturing me needlessly — in heaven’s 
name tell me ; my life’s happiness or misery hangs on your 
reply.” 

“ Is that so ? do you also love her Hugh ?” 

“As mv own soul — tell me !” reiterated Hugh. 

“ Are you perfectly sincere in your intentions, and do 
you intend to marry her in spite of opposition ? 

“ What in the deuce is the use of all this catechising, 
Fred, if she has accepted you ?” said Hugh excitedly. 

“ Well, she has not accepted me ; she shows extremely 
poor taste, and confesses to a most decided preference for 
— you !” 

"“Thank heaven! I thought I could not be mistaken 
in the hope that I was not indifferent to her, though she 
would not say. it, in so many words, but I read it in her 
sweet eyes,” returned Hugh, with evident relief and tri- 
umph. 

“ Now you know my business in Savannah, Hugh, to 


88 THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VINO. 

learn from your own lips if you still loved Elenor and were 
honest in vour intentions towards her ; for though I am a 
rejected suitor, I am still her friend, and will not see her 
trifled with.” 

“ Give yourself no uneasiness, Fred, she is the one 
woman in the world to me. My love was of sudden growth 
but it took deep root, nevertheless, and I had been count- 
ing the days, until I could go and learn more certainly her 
feelings in" regard to me. Mine have not changed — I shall 
love Elenor Fane forever ! ” 

“ Forever is a long word, Hugh ; but since you have in- 
spired a kindred feeling in her heart, I am glad it is a gen- 
uine article in your breast, and not the sham which passes 
with many under the name of love,” said Ool. Stacey. 

“I am sorry for you, Fred, for I know to my cost, 
Elenor Fane is a girl to inspire no evanescent passion in a 
man, but I hope it does not hurt you much, old fellow,” 
said Hugh, now able to be generous and sympathetic since 
his fears were removed. 

“ Nothing, since your dear sister’s death, has cost me 
such a pang ; but I resign her to you more willingly than 
to a stranger. I fear you will find it difficult to reconcile 
Lily.” 

“Yes, I shall meet opposition, I feel sure, from my 
sister, and therefore from Walter ; you know how her 
heart is set on my marrying Ada. But I shall consult my 
own happiness, of course ; still, when the time comes to 
tell her (which is not yet, so I hope you will not hint such 
a thing, only for Elenor’s sake, however) , I may need your 
influence with her.” 

“I will do all I can ; what I desire above everything 
is her happiness. I believe she loves you ; and to promote 
your union is to secure that ; but remember, Hugh, let no 
trouble come to her through you,” replied Ool. Stacey, 
Elenor’s happiness still being paramount with him to every- 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING . 


89 


thing else, and an unspoken fear intruding that Hugh 
might not strive so earnestly, as he would have done to 
secure this, when once she was safely his. 

“ Never ! dear friend ; I shall cherish her as my life, 
if I am fortunate enough to win her ; and no shadow, you 
may rest assured, that I can dispel, shall ever darken her 
sunny face or render sad her sweet, soft eyes. 0 Fred ! she 
is so lovely, and I’d give ten years of my life to see her at 
this moment !” exclaimed Hugh. 

“I believe you, my boy, and I will do all I can to re- 
move obstacles, when you need me. Good night ! I shall 
be quite busy to-morrow ; but will drop in again in the 
evening, perhaps.” 

“ Ho so, and let me see as much of you as possible 
while you are here.” 

Col. Stacey had really learned all he wished to know, 
and was fully convinced of Hugh’s sincere and honorable 
intentions with regard to Elenor, but still he lingered, re- 
luctant and fearful to return and face his disappointment. 
He did not know, until he had heard Hugh’s confession, 
that there had lurked a faint ray of hope in his heart, that, 
after all, Hugh might not be serious — that it was only a 
passing fancy, awakened by Elenor’s beauty, but now for- 
gotten, and that still he might by his devotion, win her, in 
time to love him, when she found Hugh faithless ; but this 
too had faded and died, and he buried it where he had 
many a dead hope in the past, and vowed anew to be a 
friend to the lonely orphaned girl. 

Two weeks had passed, and Col. Stacey determined 
he would waste no more time in useless repinings, but 
return to his home and to his duties, for he really 
could not enjoy his enforced stay in Savannah ; why pro- 
long it ? 

“ Hugh ” he said, just before he left, “ write to 1 Elenor, 
and I will deliver it into her hands myself, so Lily will sus- 


90 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VINO. 


pect nothing and Hugh was very glad to send a word of 
love and assurance of his constancy to Elenor ; and when 
Col. Stacey turned his face homeward, the loving missive 
went with him that was to cheer the girl he had sought to 
win — in vain ! 


CHAPTER XII. 

The evening after Col. Stacey returned home, he de- 
cided to walk over to Aspendale. Passing right by the cot- 
tage, he called to speak to Mrs. Williams and his little 
favorite Winnie, and there encountered Elenor, who had 
not been unmindful of Mrs. Williams’ earnest entreaty to 
“ come often.” 

“ I am very glad to meet you, Elenor,” he said, “for I 
was going over especially to see you ; as well as to deliver 
Hugh’s numerous messages to Lily, and this package to the 
children.” 

“Thank you, Col. Stacey, I hope you have enjoyed 
your visit,” replied Elenor, hardly knowing what she said, 
in her surprise and confusion at meeting him so unexpect- 
edly, for she did not know he had returned. “ I suppose 
you left Mr. Legare well ?” she added. 

“ Yes, quite well, and very impatient for July to come, 
and that jaunt to the Virginia Springs, on which his heart 
is set ; he begged that I would try and hurry up matters.” 

“ I think Mrs. Stacey is already making preparation for 
it, and will not need hurrying up ; she wishes to leave by 
the first of July, she says.” 

“ You were just going, were you not ? We can bear 
each other company,” said Col. Stacey. 

“ Yes ; but do not let me hurry you, I can wait.” 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 91 

“No, I only called to bring Winnie this music,” he 
said, handing the young girl a roll of music ; “'several of 
the songs I heard, they are very much the rage in Savan- 
nah, and very pretty.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Col. Stacey,” exclaimed Winnie, “'you 
are always thinking of something to give me pleasure.” 

Nonsense, child ! what have I done, that you should 
accuse me so unmercifully,” laughed Col. Stacey. 

“ Ah, you think I do not know where all the mysterious 
gifts that reach me come from, but I do, notwithstanding 
you try so hard not to let your left hand know what your 
right hand doeth,” returned Winnie. 

“ You are very kind, my little friend, to put down to 
my credit the gifts of some of your anonymous admirers, 
perhaps — how do you know ? Well, you can try your mu- 
sic now ; I am at your service, Elen or.” 

Col. Stacey and Elenor took their way across the fields 
and the meadows for some time in silence ; both were pain- 
fully conscious of their last meeting, though each in their 
kind consideration for the other, endeavored not to appear 
so. At length he said : 

“ Elenor, have you no word to ask about the man you 
love ?” 

“ Oh, Col. Stacey, do you not know that I wish to hear 
all you can tell me ?” returned Elenor, the conscious blood 
dying her cheeks with a rosy flush, and her heart trembling 
for fear, that after all, Hugh may have forgotten her, and 
Col. Stacey is going in kindness to tell her so. 

“ What will you give me for a letter from the presump- 
tuous young gentleman ? ” he asked teasingly. 

“ Oh, anything you may demand, to the half of my 
kingdom,” said Elenor, laughing lightly, but really in- 
tensely anxious. They had reached the brook by this time, 
and he said : 

“ Here, sit on this mossy rock and wait for me,” taking 


92 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


the letter from the breast-pocket of his coat (think of the 
magnanimity of the man — to carry next his heart the letter 
of his rival, to the woman he loved !) and handing it to her. 
“ I see Williams in the field with the reapers, and wish to 
speak to him ; I will not be long,” and with his usual deli- 
cate tact he left her alone to read the precious missive he 
had brought her. Elenor was soon devouring with flushed 
cheeks and wildly beating heart, Hugh’s words of love and 
constancy, sufficiently earnest and impassioned to scatter to 
the winds all her doubts and fears forever ! 

There were tears in her eyes, happy tears, when Ool. 
Stacey returned to hor side ; and she lifted her face to his, 
eloquent with the emotions that thrilled and pervaded her 
whole being. 

“ What ! tears ! are you sorry to find Hugh is really 
faithful and true ?” he asked, smiling kindly down upon 
her, and taking her hand to assist her to rise. 

“ No, no, you know I am not ; they are tears of grati- 
tude ; everybody is so good to me, and I, a poor friendless 
orphan, am so blest ! and not the least of my blessings is 
your goodness to me, dear friend,” said Elenor, as they 
slowly pursued their walk. 

“ Pooh, child ! goodness, indeed ! I am your self-ap- 
pointed guardian, you know ; and I was determined, in mv 
new capacity, to find out the young man’s intentions, and 
have no trifling with my ward,” said Col. Stacey lightly. 

“ One may choose a guardian at my age, may they 
not?” asked Elenor, smiling; “ and so I choose you, to 
take the place of the mythical one whom the Mother speaks 
of so vaguely and mysteriously, if you will hold the posi- 
tion until — ” 

“ Until Hugh takes it from me,” laughed Col. Stacey. 
“Yes, I have served you in various capacities — friend, 
mentor, lover, and last, but not least — guardian : which I 
accept on one condition — you must obey me ; and I now 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VING. 03 

command you to write the poor fellow a few cheering lines, 
and I will see them posted, safe from dangerous eyes.” 

“I cannot promise obedience in all things, but in this 
instance I am only too willing to obey. Oh, my dear friend ! 
I shall never prove ungrateful, I trust, for all your kind- 
ness,” said Elenor, fervently ; but they were nearing the 
colonnade, where Major and Mrs. Stacey were sitting, and 
the latter said as they approached : 

Why, how on earth did you two get together ? Have 
you been to Savannah for him, Elenor"? ” 

“ Certainly,” replied Elenor, laughing. 

“ Well, Fred, you come as mysteriously as you go — I 
must say in all your life I never knew you to go off in such 
a way before — not a word of warning to anyone ! What 
has ctmie over you ?” continued his sister-in-law. 

“ Did you want me to advertise my departure in the 
Clinton Chronicle, Lily ? I thought that would be done 
for me — if the editor has failed to notice so important an 
event, I will stop my paper.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha !” laughed Major Stacey. “ Lily, I think 
you ought to know Fred by this time, but I see you do not, 
and your woman’s curiosity will have to ‘suffer and be 
strong/ until he chooses to reveal the mystery, and put an 
end to your torture ; but sit down, Fred, and tell us all 
about Hugh and Savannah.” 

In the meantime, Elenor had slipped off to her own room, 
that she might be alone with her sweet joy and certainty, 
and read again and again Hugh’s tender, loving words. 

“ Well, one thing, Lily, Hugh begged I would insist on 
it that you be ready to start for Virginia by the first of 
July ; can you ?” asked her brother-in-law, as he seated 
himself in a large rocking-chair that always sat on the col- 
onnade, and the children called “ uncle Fred’s chair,” and 
was always by common consent yielded up to him. 

“ Yes, I think so ; but Fred, do tell me what took you 


94 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


to Savannah so suddenly ?” said Mrs. Stacey, drawing her 
chair nearer and leaning on the arm of his as she asked the 
question — the answer to which she already knew, or sur- 
mised, to her own satisfaction. But she wanted the way 
opened to speak of his unsuccessful suit with Elenor, which 
she dared not mention until he had broached the subject, 
knowing his reticence on all that concerned himself ; and 
while she loved and revered her brother-in-law, too much 
to fear him, still she also stood a little in awe of him, and 
would not have offended him for the world. So she was 
fain to possess her soul in patience on that subject, while 
Ool. Stacey replied : “ Business, Lily, of several kinds, and 
a desire to see Hugh.” 

“ Fred, you are so unsatisfactory ; well, tell me if you 
think Hugh has gotten over his fancy for Elenor. I was 
very uneasy last winter when he was here, but I have con- 
cluded it was not serious ; am I right ?” 

“ How should I know, Lily ? I am not Hugh’s confi- 
dant ; he did not volunteer a confession of the state of his 
affections to me ; no doubt he will to you, at the proper 
time, if it be that he is in love,” said Col. Stacey. 

“ Fred, I believe you know more than you will ad- 
mit; and I think you are really unkind not to satisfy 
me,” returned his sister-in-law, drawing back as though 
offended. 

“Pshaw! Lily,” put in her husband, “ don’t worry 
yourself, or Fred ; you will know it soon enough for your 
peace, it seems, if it is so.” 

“Oh, Walter, you and Fred — and fate, I fear — are all 
in league against me ! I know there is trouble and dis- 
appoiutment in store for me. Well, one thing, I wish 
Elenor Fane had never come to bring this on me !” 

“ Lillian !” said Col. Stacey, as sternly as he ever spoke 
to the sister of his lost love, “ for my sake, never say that 
again.” 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


95 


“ What is Elenor to you, Fred, that you should care so 
much ?” retorted Mrs. Stacey. 

“ I will tell you what she is — a woman whom I have 
loved, aye, love still, as I never thought to love again, and 
she is one whom even you may feef proud to call sister. 
Now, you know, it is painful for me to hear you speak in 
that way of her. If you care for me, try to think kindly of 
her — good night ! ” and Col. Stacey rose and walked quick- 
ly away, not heeding his brother’s" 

“ Don’t go, Fred ! come back and stay to tea.” 

“ Yes, do, Fred ! I’ll never say another word,” Mrs. 
Stacey called after him. 

“Not to-night, thank you ! I must go — have letters to 
write,” answered Col. Stacey, without pausing in his walk. 

“ Well, Lily, I hope you are satisfied ; you have seri- 
ously offended Fred, I fear, and uselessly. Why will you 
worry about Elenor and Hugh ? You know if he loves her 
and wishes to marry her, you could not prevent it, for 
Hugh has always done as he pleased, and it is too late now 
for you to desire or seek to control him, if you had the 
right or power,” said her husband, as the tea-bell rung, and 
they rose to respond to its summons. 

“ I cannot help it,” she returned, “ and I do not care, 
if that is to be the end, I shall be sorry ; how can Fred be 
so unreasonable as to expect me to be glad to have Hugh 
marry a girl of whom we know literally nothing, and who 
does not herself know anything of her parents, family, or 
birthplace ?” And Elenor’s bright face and happy smile, 
as she took her place at the tea-table, did not serve to allay 
Mrs. Stacey’s suspicions, or soothe her ruffled feelings. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


“So yon and May are going to Virginia, Ada,” said 
Robert Brent, a few days after Mrs. Stacey had wrung a 
reluctant consent from Dr. Singleton, that his daughters 
might accompany her. Ada was in the yard, among her 
flowers, as Robert stopped to speak with her, in the evening 
dusk. 

“Yes, I suppose so. Lily has overcome papa’s scru- 
ples, by promising to take good care of us, and not suffer 
us to be spirited away by some watering-place adventurer, 
or otherwise disposed of replied Ada, as she plucked 
a beautiful cloth-of-gold bud, and handed it to Robert. 

“Thank you, Ada, I will keep it for your sake; it is 
not often you give me even a rose-bud. I am thankful 
for small "favors, you see, from you,” returned Robert, 
“ and Ada, I must know one thing before you go — is there 
any hope that you can ever love me ? You must know — 
you must have seen, that for a long while, I have loved 
you with more than a brother’s affection ; tell me, dear, 
can you return it ?” 

“ Never, Robert ! save with a sister’s love, such as I 
have always given you. I am very sorry this should have 
happened ; everything was so pleasant before, and now, 
you will dislike me,” replied Ada. much worried to find 
that Robert entertained such feelings towards her, and 
that the smooth, calm current of their lives, would hence- 
forth be troubled. 

“No, I shall not dislike you, dear — I could never do 
that, I think; and I reallv had verv little hope, for I 
( 96 ) 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 97 

have long seen that your love was given to one who does 
not appreciate it; and who loves another.” 

“ Robert ! how dare you say this to me ? What reason 
have I given you to think so, and what right to say it, 
even if you thought it true ? ” returned Ada, crimsoning 
with indignation and shame, that her carefully hidden 
secret had been discovered, and Robert had dared to re- 
proach her with it. 

“ Forgive me, Ada, and excuse the jealousy of a man 
who loves you truly, and is deeply wouhded at its rejec- 
tion,” replied Robert earnestly. 

“ I forgive you, Robert, but never hint such a thing 
again.” And Ada turned away, and entering the house, 
went straight up to her room. She locked the door, and 
throwing herself on the bed wept convulsively ; not so 
much that she knew it was true, what Robert had said, 
but that she had been weak enough to let it be discovered. 
She almost felt she could hate Robert for his jealous 
penetration, gentle and amiable as she was. “Oh ! whv 
am I so weak when I know Hugh loves another ! and 
yet I had learned to love him long ago, before she came ; 
when I at least hoped to win his affection, and now ; 
when hope has fled, how can I tear his image from my 
heart, when each year since our childhood has stamped 
it more indelibly.” Poor Ada ! poor girl ! we can but 
sympathize with her. It is very easy to say a woman 
should not love until she knows herself beloved — it is 
unmaidenly, immodest ! But when a man says, “ I love 
you,” hers must be ready to spring, Minerva-like, full- 
grown from her heart ! Bah ! such cold-blooded philoso- 
phy may do for spinsters, but for the youthful and 
warm-hearted of the softer sex, it is not so easy in prac- 
tice as theory. 

% % * * % * # 

Mrs, Stacey would have been glad if Elenor could have 


98 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


been left out of their summer tour, yet she was really too 
kind-hearted, and too little of a skilful diplomatist to man- 
age it without seeming unkind to her young governess, whom 
she liked well enough in every other capacity, but that of 
a rival to her favorite ; and so Elenor had to be given the 
option of going or staying ; and as the question happened 
to be discussed when Col. Stacey was present, and Elenor 
hesitated, from an intuitive feeling, that Mrs. Stacey would 
be glad if she declined, he settled it for her very decidedly, 
and his sister-in-law tried to hide her chagrin. 

“ Of course, Elenor will go,” he said, “ where would she 
stay ? And I am sure after nearly a year of the exhausting 
labors of the school-room, she must need recreation more 
than the rest of you. I am her guardian,” he smiled, as he 
looked at Elenor, “and particularly desire she should see 
something of the fashionable world.” 

“ Thank you, for your kind wishes for my pleasure, 
Col. Stacey ; but I can stay with Mrs. Williams, as well as 
not ; she has very kindly offered to board me during Mrs. 
Stacey’s absence, and I should be very happy with her and 
Winnie,” Elenor hastened to say. 

“I do not doubt it, my dear, but as your guardian, I 
insist on your going, and I hope you will not oppose me in 
the first important request I have made in my new capac- 
ity,” returned her friend. 

“No, if you really desire it, and Mrs. Stacey does not 
object, I will go,” replied Elenor, for at heart, the young 
girl longed to be one of the party, and she knew that Hugh 
certainly expected, and wished it ; in fact, had written of 
her going as a matter of course, and how could she disap- 
point him ? 

“I not only desire it, but command your compliance,” 
laughed Col. Stacey, “ so that settles "the matter ; and 
Lily, of course, must be glad to have so agreeable an addi- 
tion to her party.” 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


99 


“ Certainly, Elenor. I never thought of anything else, 
but your going,” said Mrs. Stacey ; which was true, for she 
had not seen exactly how her wishes on the subject could 
be accomplished. 

The next day Elenor received a check for two hundred 
dollars, enclosed with these words — 

“ Accept this trifle, with the earnest wish that its ex- 
penditure may give you as much pleasure as the bestowal 
gives “ Your Guardian.” 

Col. Stacey could not be induced to make one of their 
party, even Elenor’s influence and urging failed to move 
him. He could not yet trust himself to witness with calm- 
ness and indifference her and Hugh’s happiness in each 
other’s society. And the gay world had little attraction for 
one of his quiet and retired habits ; besides, he hoped to be 
cured of his “folly,” as he termed it, before Elenor’s 
return, in thinking of her as Hugh’s betrothed. Though 
in his desire to have Elenor go, he had thought far more 
of her pleasure than of his own healing ; and he believed 
both would be secured by her visit to Virginia. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Notwithstanding Hugh’s impatience, it was near 
the middle of July before Mrs. Stacey felt that she was 
ready to leave for the Springs, and she almost regretted 
she had not accepted Aunt Mary’s proposal to leave the 
children with her. But they begged so hard to go, and 
their father sided with them. 

“Lillian,” he urged, “I know you will be miserable, 
and make me so, if those children are left behind ; you 


100 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


will imagine a thousand accidents have happened to them 
each day, and the comfort and pleasure of our trip will 
be marred entirely and Mrs. Stacey knew it was true, 
so the children had to be fitted out with new and hand- 
some wardrobes, and Maumer Betty taken along to look 
after them. But at last they were off. Hugh joined them 
in Augusta, and he and Elenor met, in a crowd of curious 
lookers-on ; but the warm hand-clasp, and quick, electric 
love-glance, expressed volumes of unuttered emotion quite 
intelligible to them, if not to the ignorant observers. 

“ I thought you people would never get off,” said 
Hugh, when they had changed cars and settled down, 
Maud on his lap, and Wattie kneeling on the seat beside 
him with an arm round his neck. “ Why didn’t you leave 
the small fry at home, Lily ? I thought you had decided 
to do so, which would have been wiser in my opinion.” 

“ Walter was so opposed to leaving them, and they 
so crazy to come, I could not find it in my heart to deny 
them,” replied his sister. 

“ Well, youngsters, you’ve got to behave, I tell you 
now,” said Hugh, trying to look very formidable at the 
unwelcome and unexpected addition to their party. 

“ Why, Uncle Hugh, we knows how to be good when 
we go visiting, don’t we Maudie ?” 

“I do, Wattie, but you know mamma has to speak to 
you sometimes,” replied Maud. 

“ Company manners, eh ? ” laughed Hugh ; “ I am 
glad you brought them with you, Wattie, it is more than 
some children of larger growth do. By the way, Lily, 
there are two friends of mine aboard, from Savannah, 
that I wish to introduce to you — Dr. Towns and Mr. 
Kennon ; they have relatives in Virginia, whom they are 
going to see, but expect to spend some time at the Springs 
also. Miss Ada, you and Miss Fane may begin your 
conquests at once, before you reach the "great battle- 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


101 


field ; this little side skirmishing will sharpen your 
weapons.” 

4 4 Thank yon, Hugh, we wait with impatience to see 
if they are foenien worthy of our steel,” laughed Ada. 

44 Yes, I should like to test my powers, before a decisive 
battle,” said Elenor, 44 as my weapons, I fear, are rusty from 
long disuse.” 

Hugh smiled at her, incredulous, as she knew, while 
he replied : 44 You both shall be gratified ; make ready 
your batteries. I will bring them in at once, before the 
cars are in motion. May, I shall be left to your tender 
mercies, I suppose, until Stacey Hamilton supplants me.” 

Our party found Dr. Towns and Mr. Kennon quite an 
acquisition in every way to their number, for they were 
cultivated and refined gentlemen, and both possessed in 
an unusual degree, those qualities essential in the make-up 
of a pleasant travelling companion. Taken all together 
they were such a merry and distinguished looking crowd 
that they quite eclipsed all the other passengers on board, 
and were 44 the observed of all observers.” When the 
train had been under way some time, and the rest were 
fixing themselves comfortably for a nap (the other gentle- 
men had betaken themselves to the smoking-car) before 
reaching the junction, Hugh made it convenient to remove 
Maud, who was asleep with her head on Elenor’s lap, 
and taking the place by her side, said : 

44 At last, my darling, I may have a word with you ! I 
was so fearful you would not come, dear, and then nothing 
could have forced me to take the trip ; I should have turned 
my back on the whole thing, and sought out your retreat,” 
and Hugh, by some sleight-of-hand trick, known only to 
lovers, soon possessed himself of Elenor’s trembling hand, 
which he clasped with passionate fervor, as some relief to 
the intense longing he felt to clasp her in his arms and kiss 
the sweet, smiling lips that were now his very own ; and 


102 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


though Elenor was thrilling under his loving glance and 
touch, she answered calmly : 

“ I really ought not to have come, Mr. Legare ; do you 
not think it foolish for a poor governess who is in vigorous 
health, to spend all she has made in ten months, at the 
Springs in two, merely for pleasure ?” 

“ Under the circumstances, I do not. You will not need 
it when you are my wife ; and I wanted you to see some- 
thing of the world, my little nun, and of other men, that 
nothing may be wanting to test the strength and depth of 
your affection for me, darling,” returned Hugh. 

“ And suppose, Sir Vanity, I should fancy some one 
else more, after seeing the world, as you term it ?” asked 
Elenor gravely. 

“ Very well ; if you do not prefer me to the whole mas- 
culine world, were it at your feet, throw me over ; it would 
be hard to bear, I confess, but 1 wish you to be able to say 
from your heart, 

‘ I would rather share 

His lowliest lot — walk by his side, an outcast — 

Work for him, beg with him — live upon the light 
Of one kind smile from him, than wear the crown 
The Bourbon lost ! ’ 

Am I exacting ? Can you say this, dearest ?” : ,and Hugh 
stole an arm round her, in his persuasive, caressing man- 
ner, that was difficult to resist ; but Elenor smiled roguish- 
ly, as she answered : 

“ Now, perhaps ; but ask me when I have seen ‘ other 
men I may answer differently ; I fear there is danger ; 
Mr. Kennon’s dark eyes have warned me of this already.” 

“ Don’t jest, darling ! it is too serious a matter for that ; 
I think it would kill me if I should lose you now.” 

“ And do you think there is no danger, Hugh, of your 
fancy wandering from a little rustic like me, to some of 
those proud Virginia beauties ?” 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


103 


“ None in the world, my queen, my peerless darling ! 
Do you not know I speak truly ?” 

“ I will answer you when you too have passed the ordeal 
by which I am to be tried/’ replied Elenor. 

“ I have seen as much beauty in Georgia as Virginia 
can boast, and only at your feet have I laid the love and 
worship of a heart undivided and untouched before by the 
love of woman.” 

“ But, Mr. Legare, we shall have such opposition ; your 
sister will never consent to your marrying a poor girl, whose 
birth and family are shrouded in mystery.” 

“1 should like to please Lily in my choice of a wife,” 
replied Hugh, “ but I had infinitely rather please my- 
self ; and as to the mystery of your parentage, that will 
doubtless all be explained ; if not, what do I care ? Don’t 
let that trouble you, dearest.” Hugh had taken a tiny box 
from his coat-pocket, and lifting from its soft, satin-lined 
bed a beautiful cluster diamond ring, he slipped it gently 
on the forefinger of the hand he had held a willing pris- 
oner. 

“ These are what you were born to wear, my darling, 
and shall, if I can bestow them.” 

“ 0 Hugh ! I’d rather not wear this now, your sister 
will suspect something, and all the rest,” said Elenor under 
her breath, and looking apprehensively to where Mrs. Sta- 
cey and Ada were apparently unconscious of this little by- 
play ; but they gave no sign, and Elenor reassured, looked 
down again at the glittering bauble that seemed to scintil- 
late with a thousand brilliant rays in the dim lamp-light. 

“ Well, let them,” returned her lover, “ it must be 
known sooner or later, and I’d rather make your fetters a 
little more binding before you are exposed to the danger of 
being drawn away from your allegiance.” 

4 4 But I will promise to be so faithful and true, if you 
will not ask me to wear this symbol of my bondage until 


104 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


we return to Aspendale, please, Hugh,” pleaded Elenor 
smilingly. 

“ Of course, if you wish. You can put it in your pocket 
and transfer it to the deepest depths of your trunk, if you 
choose ; but I think it very strange, if you care for me, that 
you are so averse to having our engagement known,” said 
Hugh rather moodily. 

“ Do not look so solemn, my lord, it is yours to com- 
mand and mine to obey,” whispered Elenor ; “ I will wear 
it and brave all, if you insist on it — only smile on me again, 
dear Hugh.” 

“ I do insist. I am tired of all this concealment, and 
shall tell Lily as soon as I can have a word with her alone. 
I know she will not show displeasure, if she feels it — she 
knows me too well, and loves me too much for that. I 
have only kept it from her on your account, not my 
own.” 

Here the conversation was interrupted by the stopping 
of the train, and the entrance of the conductor, who an- 
nounced, “ Junction ! ample time, ladies and gentlemen, 
for supper.” The rest were soon roused, and leaving Mau- 
mer Betty to take care of the sleeping children, they all 
went in to supper. Elenor had slipped on her glove to 
hide the tell-tale ring, and as they were at table, Mr. Ken- 
lion, who had taken his place by her side, observing it, 
said : 

“ Miss Fane, you have plenty of time to remove your 
other glove ; are you not afraid of soiling it ?” and guilty, 
blushing Elenor hastily drew off ring and glove together 
and thrust them into her pocket. Hugh was watching her, 
for he had taken a seat directly opposite with May Single- 
ton. Elenor looked up and met his eye with an appealing 
glance, which said, “I could not attract everybody’s atten- 
tion with that glittering tell-tale ; I might as well proclaim 
it from the table.” 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


105 


Hugh understood, and smiled mischievously, which did 
not tend to lessen her confusion. Mr. Kennon and the rest 
were, however, happily unconscious of this little episode, 
the former giving his attention to the appetizing supper, 
while Mrs. Stacey and Ada were engaged in an animated 
conversation with Dr. Towns on the claim to precedence of 
their respective States, to which Major Stacey was listening 
with an amused smile. 

It was not until they reached Columbia, and during 
their enforced detention there, that Hugh secured the 
rather dreaded interview with his sister ; and although his 
communication was a bitter confirmation of her fears, she 
was not wholly unprepared for something of the kind. 

“ 0 Hugh !” she exclaimed at last, when she had 
heard him through with silent but keen disappointment, 
as she saw the last remnant of hope fade away in regard to 
her pet scheme, “when you know my long cherished wish 
about you and Ada ! ” 

“ You are very clever and wise too, Lily,” he said, “but 
you lack one sort of wisdom ; you forget we can’t make 
things go as we wish ; 6 Man proposes, but God disposes. ’ 
If Ada and I were the only living man and woman, I could 
not love her ; so try to be content, my dear, good sister, 
and receive Elenor as the betrothed of your spoiled brother, 
and love her for his sake — will you not ?” he asked, as he 
put his arm around his sister in his old caressing way, she 
had never been able to resist. 

“ But, Hugh, what do you know of this girl’s antece- 
dents ? she knows nothing herself, and — ” 

“ Never mind about that now, Lily, it is too late — the- 
thing is done, and nothing can change it — no earthly power, 
so try to be reconciled,” Hugh hastened to say, for he was 
tired" of hearing any allusion to the mystery of Elenor’s 
birth. 

“ Well, if you are satisfied, I am sure I ought to be,” 


106 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


replied Mrs. Stacey, as she dashed away the tears of chagrin 
and disappointment she could not altogether restrain. 

“ Shall I tell Elenor you are ready to receive her as a 
sister ? ” 

“ Yes, of- course ; I will do so myself as soon as an op- 
portunity offers,” replied Mrs. Stacey, with an effort to 
make the best of it, for Hugh’s sake ; but in her heart she 
felt that she almost hated Elenor at the moment. 

“ Lily, I have ordered carriages to take a drive around 
the city after breakfast, and see what is to be seen,” said 
Hugh, as he rose to leave the room. 

“ Very well, I will go and hurry the girls, for I know it 
is nearly breakfast time.” 

Altogether it was an agreeable journey, and none of the 
party seemed to enjoy it more than Maud and Wattie, 
though they vexed Maumer Betty’s righteous soul and kept 
her constantly on the alert to keep them out of danger. 
Wattie lost his hat as they crossed the Yadkin, by putting 
his head out of the window to get a sight of the river, when 
a gust of wind took it off, and he saw it sail away beyond 
recovery, and drop like a bird on the water. “ Hare now, 
chile, didn’t I tell you keep your hed outen dat winder ; 
now wat you gwine do ? reckon you keep your head in 
now, you ain’t got no hat on it.” 

“ I don’t care, nobody wants a hat on the cars, and I’ve 
got my Sunday hat in mamma’s trunk,” said Wattie stout- 
ly, not to be intimidated by so trifling a loss. 

“ Well, go tell your ma you done loss your hat ; reckon 
she’ll keer, ef you don’t, case she know hats don’t grow on 
trees, and money nuther.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


As our party were in search of pleasure, rather than 
health, they went, first, to White Sulphur, where such vota- 
ries most do congregate. Dr. Towns and Mr. Kennon left 
them at Richmond, promising to join them again after a 
short sojourn with their friends. 

They found Stacey Hamilton impatiently awaiting their 
arrival, and Uncle and Aunt were quite surprised to find 
him such a well-grown, manly boy — for several years had 
passed since they had met. Stacey was now eighteen, and 
unusually mature and intelligent for his age. Being the 
eldest of the family, his parents had treated him more as a 
companion, than a child — they were also very proud and 
ambitious for him, and altogether Stacey’s training had 
impressed him with the belief that Hamilton blood was a 
little better and bluer than that which coursed through 
the veins of ordinary mortals. 

He and May soon became good friends, though his 
manner was just a little patronizing towards her, which 
she rather resented, as she felt herself quite Stacey’s 
equal, in age and experience. What girl of fifteen would 
not ? When other youth sought her society, and seemed 
disposed to be attentive, Stacey looked on with doubtful 
approval, and he finally said to her one day, “ May, you 
don’t know anything about those fellows-— you ought to 
be careful.” 

She replied, “ Why, Stacey, they seem to be nice boys — 
very gentlemanly — I can only judge by that. Of course, 
one cannot know exactly who everybody is at a place like 
( 107 ) 


108 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


this, but I am under your uncle’s care, and he will tell me 
when I am wrong in receiving the attentions of a young 
man. You are too particular, Stacey, and I must say, 
rather proud # and exclusive.” 

A new life seemed opening to Elenor ; her heart was 
at rest in regard to her engagement to Hugh, and never 
before had the world looked so bright and attractive to her 
inexperienced eyes. “ Oh !” she said to herself, “ how 
could Sister Elorine say there was nothing but trouble and 
unhappiness in the world ! Everybody seems happy and 
kind, and to enjoy life so much !” Poor child ! she only 
saw the surface. She could not, in that gay and brilliant 
throng see the heartache, the envy, the struggle to keep 
up appearances — the skeleton hid away in the closet, from 
the eye of the indifferent and unsympathizing world. 
Life did, indeed, at this shrine of fashion, seem but a gala- 
day of enjoyment — but a prolonged festival ! ah, ’ twas 
only seeming, in many instances, for even in our little 
party, there was one aching heart. Mrs. Stacey had told 
Ada of her brother’s engagement to Miss Fane, adding 
that they did not care to have it known by the world yet ; 
and Ada knew that the sweetest hope had died out of her 
life ! As a child, Hugh had been her hero ; as a woman, 
her ideal of all that was best and noblest in man, and 
another had won the love she would have given her life to 
possess ; and that she believed might have been hers if 
Elenor had not crossed his pathway. And while Ada 
Singleton was too good a Christian to hate any of God’s 
creatures, there was a fierce struggle with her rebellious 
heart to subdue a feeling of bitterness towards Elenor, 
lovely and loveable as she could but acknowledge her rival 
to be, yet had not that very loveliness, that, at times, 
seemed almost hateful to her, won Hugh away from her ? 
But Ada’s native strength of character nerved her to 
endure and make no sign — “ to suffer and be strong,” so 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


109 


that even Mrs. Stacey, who knew her best, was deceived 
into believing she had been mistaken in thinking Ada had 
a tenderer feeling than friendship for her brother, so calm 
and smiling was the serene countenance that never for a 
moment betrayed the pang that pierced the faithful, fond 
heart, at her friend’s communication. 

Both Ada and Elenor soon became very popular, but 
the latter bore off the palm for beauty, though there were 
rivals to the claim from almost every State in the Union ; 
but the theme of every masculine tongue — even of middle- 
aged and old men, was the beautiful Miss Fane. “ Who 
.is she ? a relation of the Stacey’s ? their position is un- 
questioned at least, and it is enough that she is under their 
protection. Young Legare seems quite devoted — perhaps 
they are engaged ?” and numberless similar questions and 
surmises, which whether satisfactorily answered or not, 
did not alter the fact that Elenor was soon the acknowl- 
edged belle of the Springs. 

Though Hugh was flattered at the sensation she created, 
still he was also a little uneasy, and disgusted too, that he 
could not have more of her society — she seemed drifting 
away from him on the waves of adulation and flattery that 
surrounded her. She is certainly passing through the ordeal 
by which Hugh desired she should be tried. Will she re- 
main true ? 

They had been at White Sulphur nearly two weeks 
when Dr. Towns and Mr. Kennon again joined them, 
accompanied by a sister of the former. Miss Isabel Towns, 
and a cousin of the latter, Miss Virginia Fairfax. Of 
course, they were warmly welcomed, and the gentlemen 
could not conceal the pleasure they felt at again meeting 
Ada and Elenor. 

• “ Miss Fane,” said Mr. Kennon, a few hours after his 

arrival, when he had inveigled Elenor into a promenade, 
“ They all accused me at home of having lost my heart.” 


110 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ Ah, and did you admit the ‘soft impeachment ?’ ” 
asked Elenor. 

“ I could not deny it with a very good grace, knowing 
it was true,” he replied. 

“ I have heard you are a great flirt, Mr. Kennon, in 
fact, that the amusement has been reduced to an art by 
you ; and cupid’s darts do not usually inflict very serious 
wounds in such hearts, so I need not offer you my sym- 
pathy,” laughed Elenor. 

“ Who has done me such an injury in your good opin- 
ion, Miss Eane ? I should be deeply pained to know that 
you believed it,” replied Mr. Kennon gravely. 

“ Why, of course I believe it, and I imagined you lady- 
killers were rather proud of your prowess in that line,” said 
Elenor, with a light laugh that rather stung the young 
man. 

“ I do not lay claim to any prowess of the kind, and 
am very sorry I have been prejudiced in your eyes — you, 
whose good opinion I so earnestly desire,” returned Mr. 
Kennon with some excitement, and warmth of feeling. 

“ Oh, I think it rather interesting to meet such a per- 
son. When you know it, you are on the defensive against 
their fascinations ; and' I believe I shall like you in spite of 
the danger I encounter — I have always been rather daring.” 

“I know you are laughing at me, Miss Fane, and I 
cannot exonerate myself, as I see you are incredulous.” 

Mr. Kennon was a flirt, but for the first time in his 
life he was in earnest, and his heart was touched by the 
holy passion he had so often simulated. He did not know 
that Elenor was already won, and so, blindly, he allowed 
his hitherto unsuspected strength and fervor of affection 
to go out towards this girl, of whom he only knew, that 
she was beautiful and loveable beyond anything he had 
ever dreamed of before. And now how should he con- 
vince her of his sincerity ? 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO V1NG. 


Ill 


“ Oh no, Mr. Kennon, indeed I am not. I told you I 
rather admired a flirt, but two can play at that game, you 
know, and forewarned is forearmed. But we must really 
return to the ball-room ; I promised Stacey Hamilton a 
waltz to-night, and it must be my last, for I am tired out, 
and fear I shall be worn out before two months have 
passed. How time flies at a place like this ; it seems only 
a few days since our arrival.” 

“Yes, time passes unheeded, when every hour is 
winged with pleasures, golden-tipped.” 

Miss Towns and Miss Fairfax were regular society 
girls, rather pretty, and very stylish, without being at all 
beautiful. This was not their first season at a fashionable 
watering-place, as was the case with Ada and Elenor, so 
they found many friends and acquaintances, and seemed 
entirely at home. Miss Fairfax had the reputation of 
being something of a blue , and was so sarcastic that the 
men paid tribute at her shrine, with fear and trembling. 
She and Hugh took quite a fancy to each other, and he 
really enjoyed her sprightly conversation, though she was 
often severe on the follies of her own sex, and mankind in 
general. 

Dr. Towns was quite assiduous in his attentions to Ada 
Singleton, and she admired him more than any gentleman 
whose acquaintance she had formed ; for he was unusually, 
cultivated and entertaining, and his whole bearing indi- 
cated in the highest degree the true gentleman. Mr. 
Kennon hovered so closely about Elenor, for the next few 
days, that Hugh was becoming just a little annoyed, if not 
jealous ; and no wonder, for it was quite patent to a less 
interested observer than he, that Mr. Kennon was either 
pretendedly or really, deeply in love, and quite content 
that everybody should know it. He let no opportunity 
pass to whisper “soft nothings” into her ear, but she 
would turn his love-making into jests, until he was almost 


112 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


desperate, and knew not how to convince her that he was 
serious. 

“Miss Fane,” he said to her one morning, as they 
loitered, with others of their party, in one of the cool, dim- 
lit parlors, but, they, as usual, apart from the rest, “ you 
are the most incredulous unbelieving woman I ever met ; 
have you no faith in man at all ?” 

“Certainly, Mr. Kennon, a great deal of faith in many 
men,” replied Elenor teasinglv. 

“ So it is only in me, and my professions, that you 
have no faith ; that is hard, Miss Fane ; it is unkind, 
cruel ! I could not have believed it of you,” and Mr. 
Kennon was silent for some moments, waiting for a dis- 
claimer from Elenor, which did not come. At last he took 
from her hand, her tablets, with which she was toying, and 
taking out his pencil, wrote busily for a few moments, and 
handed them back to her, without a word ; and as silently 
she turned them and read : 

“ Better trust all and be deceived, 

And weep that trust and that deceiving, 

Than lose a heart, that, if believed, 

Would bless thy life with true believing.” 

“ She smiled, and held out her hand for the pencil, and 
hastily wrote the following impromptu : 

“ Better doubt all — be not deceived — 

And boast that doubt and unbelieving, 

Than trust a heart, that, if believed, 

Would curse thy life with its deceiving.” 

“ Bravo ! Miss Fane, splendid ! But I prefer the set. 
timent of Fanny Kemble’s, though doubtless she had cause 
to change her views, as the heart she trusted 4 cursed her 
life with its deceiving,’ ” said Mr. Kennon, after he had 
read Elenor’s reply. 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


113 


<c What is that, Kennon ?” asked Hugh, leaving his 
seat by Miss Fairfax rather abruptly, and coming over to 
where Elenor and Kennon had seemed so engaged in their 
tete-a-tete , as to be almost oblivious of the presence of 
others. Hugh had been watching them furtively, with a 
feeling somewhat akin to fear that perhaps, after all, 
Elenor was beginning to like Kennon more than he knew, 
for he was certainly a fascinating man to most women, and 
Hugh had seen a great deal of the wonderful influence he 
exerted over the fair sex in Savannah, and now, something 
Elenor had said or done, seemed to please him very much* ; 
he must know what , at the risk of intruding. “ Do let us 
enjoy it with you, if it is no secret or treasonable morceau 
that you are enjoying.” 

“ Oh, no, and it is too good to be lost ; shall I show it 
to him, Miss Fane ?” 

Dr. Towns and Ada had also joined them, and Mr. 
Kennon said, “ I will read them both for the benefit of the 
crowd, eh. Miss Fane ?” 

“ As you like,” replied Elenor. They all applauded 
and complimented Elenor on her readiness at impromptu. 
But Hugh was not reassured ; he thought Kennon must 
mean business, and was rather silent and preocupied for 
the rest of the morning. 

“ Miss Fane,” said Kennon, detaining Elenor a mo- 
ment after Mrs. Stacey had suggested thap it was time to 
dress for dinner, “ will you take that drive with me this 
afternoon, that you have promised, when I could find you 
unengaged ?” 

“Iam sorry to disappoint you again, but I have prom- 
ised to take a horseback ride with Mr. Legare.” 

“Well, I am unfortunate: the Fates are against our 
taking that drive, I see, and I take it as ominous.” 

“ Of what, Mr. Kennon ?” asked Elenor smiling. 

“That I am doomed to disappointment in a more im- 


114 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


-portant matter on which my heart is set,” he answered in 
a low tone intended only for her ear, but Hugh heard it. 
“ Will you go to-morrow evening ? it is my last chance.” 

“ Yes ; I know nothing to prevent, now.” 

“ But I believe something will happen to prevent,” he 
said, “ I’ve grown superstitious about that coveted drive.” 

“ Oh, the Fates will be propitious this time, I hope,” 
replied Elenor lightly, as she left him. 

•ft ^ ^ ^ % % % 

Ada was to ride with Dr. Towns. With no spice of 
vanity she would have been more obtuse than her sex usu- 
ally are in such matters, if she had failed to perceive that 
Dr. Towns was growing more and more fond of her society. 
His attention was very flattering, and his tender deference 
pleasing to her sorely- wounded heart ; but whether or not 
she returned this growing preference, his agreeable society 
and kind thoughtfulness had done much to divert her mind 
from her great, but hidden disappointment, and to render 
her sojourn in Virginia far more pleasant than it would 
otherwise have been. 

Never had Elenor looked more lovely in Hugh’s eyes, 
than on that afternoon ride ; and it brought back vividly 
to both their first one, along the quiet country road at As- 
pendale, though she was now quite an accomplished horse- 
woman, and Hugh had no need to play instructor. The 
evening was charming, with just enough of the bracing 
and exhilarating in the pure mountain air to make it a de- 
light to breathe it, and to set all your blood (young blood 
especially) tingling in your veins. They had reached a 
point, a favorite and favorable one, from which to view 
the sunset ; they drew rein, and were silent with admiring 
awe at the scene spread out before them. Ada and Dr. 
Towns had been left far behind in their more sober gait. 

“ 0 Hugh !” said Elenor at last, “ is it not lovely ? 
If earth is so fair, what must Heaven be ? and if one can 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


115 


be so perfectly happy in this world as I am, it will be hard 
to leave it.” 

“ And are you so happy, darling ?” he asked, looking 
more at her than at the beautiful scene. 

_ “ Too happy, Hugh ; I tremble at its excess, and some- 
thing whispers it cannot last ; it never does, they say — at 
least, Sister Florine says so, and she is so wise and good,” 
and a shadow of coming events, it almost seemed, stole for 
a moment over the brightness of her face. 

“ Why should it not last, dear ? If we are true to each 
other, nothing can come between us but death, though I 
have begun to fear that Kennon covets my rare jewel ; for 
I think he is badly smitten, and I almost wish I had told 
him of our engagement, eh, Nellie ? 

“ You need not feel apprehensive, Hugh, or waste vbur 
sympathy on him ; he is only indulging in a watering-place 
flirtation, I guess.” 

“ No, I fear he is really in earnest for the first time in 
his life.” 

“ Well, it is no matter, then, if he feels something of the 
pain he has doubtless often inflicted on some poor, credulous 
girl ; but I think you are mistaken.” 

66 Is not this magnificent, Miss Fane ?” exclaimed Dr. 
Towns, as he and Ada drew up beside them. “ Who would 
sigh for Italia’s sunsets, after seeing this ? Miss Single- 
ton,” turning to Ada, as she gazed with a far-away rapt 
look of pensive sadness, into the blue and purple depths 
and heights beyond and below her ; “ do you not feel in- 
spired to write an ode to sunset ?” 

f *'No, I console myself with the reflection that I am 
one of the poets who never pen their inspirations,” replied 
Ada rousing from her reverie. 

“Miss Fane, you ought to be a poetess, if physiognomy 
means anything.” 

“ I am like Ada, a silent worshipper at the shrine of 


116 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


the Muses. I never could give expression to my thoughts, 
when I feel most intensely, said Elenor turning her beaan- 
ing face radiant with happiness and the sunset’s parting 
glow, on Dr. Towns. 

“ I think, Hugh, Miss Fane must be an unconcious poet- 
ess, and only needs a heart-breaking trouble to develop her 
latent talent, as flowers that must be crushed before they 
yield their sweetest perfume,” said Dr. Towns, turning to 
Hugh, who had been silently watching the shifting light 
and shade of the entrancing picture. 

44 Well, let us hope Miss Fane’s poetic talent will not 
be so severely tested ; rather let it remain latent forever !” 
returned Hugh fervently. 

4 4 Amen ! to that, I say with all my heart,” responded 
Dr. Towns, 44 but is it not time to return ? this mountain 
air grows chill as soon as the sun withdraws his genial 
rays.” 

And so, reluctant to leave the fading glories of the 
lovely landscape, they rode back, more silent than they 
came, each busy with the thoughts — we utter not, 

“ Deep treasured in our inmost soul, 

Never revealed, yet ne’er forgot.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Political life, with its excitement, trickery, and vul- 
gar complications, had always inspired Col. Stacey with 
horror and repugnance. His ambition did not lead in that 
direction ; he preferred the quiet pleasures of study, and 
the peaceful country life he had always led (save during 
the four years of fierce civil strife), but he could not be 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING 117 

deaf to the call of his country now as then, or indifferent 
to the wishes of his many friends to become their repre- 
sentative in the State legislature. And when he was so 
urged on all sides, his love for his native State, his sincere 
regard for her interest and welfare, would not suffer him to 
ignore her call to serve her in this capacity, even at the sac- 
rifice for a time of his congenial and quiet pursuits ; and 
as Brooks was the radical candidate, he determined to do 
what he could to prevent the evil to his county that the 
election of such a man would be. So while the rest were 
enjoying themselves at the' Springs, he was plunging heart 
and brain into the political struggle, bent on winning, if 
fair means and hard work could accomplish the end. 

And to-day came the “ tug of war the contest opened 
with a mass-meeting to be held in Clinton ; the crowd was 
immense, white and black, republican and democrat from 
far and near were present, Brooks was the first to speak, 
and he concluded his long tirade with, as he thought, 
these telling words : “ I think it a good thing for you, my 
friends, who were the bottom rail before the war, that the 
proud aristocrats of the South lost their slaves ; there’s 
some chance now for you to rise to the top. Before you 
had to compete with the rich man’s slave, and work cheap, 
to get work at all ; now, a heap of the aristocrats are down 
in the world, their negroes are free, their property gone, 
and the poor man has a chance to own some of the broad 
lands they once called their own, and a voice in the coun- 
cils of the nation, and in making the laws by which he is 
to be governed. But there are some of those would-be 
aristocrats left, chips of the old block (pointing signifi- 
cantly towards Col. Stacey), beware of them ! you of the 
so-called lower classes, honest farmers and mechanics ; and 
you, my colored friends, beware of them ! Are they to 
represent you, the bone and sinew of the country ? These 
curled darlings of a dead aristocracy, who were once your 


118 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


masters and oppressors, and would be again, if they dared ! 
(cries of that’s so, that’s so, and shame ! treason ! and his- 
ses). Are they to represent the interest of the working- 
class, and the freedmen, with whom they have no sympa- 
thy ? I tell you, no ! I do not say send me, but I do say 
send some one who feels an interest in you and will work 
for your good, and not for the advancement of a moneyed 
aristocracy. And, I dare to add, in the words of the im- 
mortal Pitt, ( If this be treason, make the most of it !’ 
(great applause). When Columbus landed on Plymouth 
rock, he proclaimed liberty and equality to all, both black 
and white, and I for one endorse the grand words of our 
own Washington, ‘Give me liberty, or give me death !’” 
(hear ! hear ! ’rah for Brooks ! mingled with groans and 
hisses.) As the speaker left the stand the crowd became 
clamorous for Stacey, and a perfect storm of applause 
greeted him as he took his place with a quiet dignity and 
grace, that formed a pleasing contrast to the coarse bully 
and demagogue who had preceded him. 

It is needless to detail all that Col. Stacey said in a 
speech of more than two hours, in which he held that 
surging mass spell-bound, by the power, not so much of 
eloquence, as of truth, and the perfect confidence they 
reposed in his integrity, and the purity of his aims and 
motives. He soon disposed of his opponent, exposing his 
petty schemes and vile trickery, and then launched out 
into an explanation of the true end and aim of all govern- 
ment, the real interpretation of the constitution as framed 
by our fathers, and the consequences of any infringement 
of the sacred compact, by those who would lay sacriiigious 
hands on this paladium of our rights, this bulwark of our 
liberties, etc. 

When he concluded, Brooks felt several degrees smaller 
in his own estimation and doubtless that of many even of 
his own party. From that hour, Col. Stacey’s election was 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


119 


a fait accompli — Brooks refused absolutely to meet him 
again, and changed all his appointments ; but it was of no 
avail, for a few months later, Col. Stacey was elected by 
an overwhelming majority, and Theodore Brooks retired to 
his native obscurity a wiser man in his estimate of an in- 
telligent and discriminating Georgia public. He was one 
of a class that existed in the South soon after the war, 
who hoped to float on the turbid and unsettled* current of 
the political stream, to high places of trust and profit — 
their noblest aim being their own promotion ; their most 
dominant feeling, a hankering after the flesh-pots of Egypt. 
He had little education, and less culture, but had managed 
to pick up a few Latin phrases, and immortal sayings famil- 
iar to every school-boy, which he lugged into his speeches, 
and mingled curiously (as he invariably ascribed them to 
the wrong source) in his conversation, to the wonder of the 
ignorant, and the amusement of the more cultivated. Col. 
Stacey told a rather amusing incident of the kind one day 
at Aspendale, on his return from a trip on which he and 
Brooks happened to be fellow-travellers for a little way. 
While they were waiting at the depot for the train, Brooks 
said : “ Colonel, you see that heap of bones — do you know 
what they are for ?” 

“ For fertilizers, I suppose,” replied Col. Stacey. 

“ No, they are to make this Magnum Bonum Black- 
ing ; Magnum, to make — Bonus, bones ; don’t you see ?” 
returned Brooks, looking consequential as was his habit. 

“ Ah, yes, I see,” said Col. Stacey, smiling demurely, 
“ it is a great thing to be a scholar like you, Brooks.” But 
Brooks was too obtuse, or conceited to discover the irony 
in the tone and words, so went his way more self-compla- 
cent than ever. Such was the man who had actually been 
admitted to the Georgia bar (no very difficult thing) — a 
blustering ignoramus, who hoped to gain the suffrages of 
an intelligent, and for the most part, cultivated commu- 


120 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


nity ; or I should rather say, he hoped to represent this 
community, through the votes of the negro, and riffraff 
among the whites, gained by appealing to their baser pas- 
sions, and arousing their jealousy of the better educated, 
and more refined class. 

******* 

It being Temple Gwynn’s vacation, and needing diver- 
sion and rest from his too close application to his school 
and studies, he entered warmly into the political canvass, 
being a great admirer and partisan of Col. Stacey. He ac- 
companied him frequently on his rounds, and the two soon 
became warm friends — notwithstanding the disparity of 
years, for they had much in common. Col. Stacey took 
great pains to draw him out, and would listen with sincere 
interest to his ambitious plans, and the noble course he had 
marked out for himself — and knowing that Gwvnn was a 
great reader, Col. Stacey offered him the use of his library, 
and solicited frequent visits to the Hall. Robert Brent 
often made one of the party, so that Col. Stacey did not 
miss the inmates of Aspendale as he had anticipated, and 
even Elenor was forgotten, at times, in the new career on 
which he had entered, and the congenial and pleasant com- 
panionship of his two young friends. His little favorite, 
Winnie, was not neglected, and the cottage was still bright- 
ened by his presence, whenever he had a leisure hour. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Me. Kennon and Elenor did not take their drive the 
next afternoon ; for Major Stacey very suddenly deter- 
mined to leave White Sulphur, and spend a few days at 
each, or most of the other resorts with which that region 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


121 


abounds, promising to return to the first in time for the 
fancy ball, and then home ; so the girls were advised to be 
in readiness to start the next day. 

Of course, their friends were solicited to join them, and 
were more than willing to regulate their movements by 
Major Stacey’s charming party ; for there would no longer 
have been any attraction at the Springs, to Dr. Towns and 
Mr. Kennon, after the departure of Ada and Elenor. 

Several weeks have elapsed, when we again find them 
returned, rather weary of packing and unpacking, to their 
first, and they all decide, favorite watering-place. At last, 
Mr. Kennon is about to be rewarded for his long waiting — 
Elenor has promised to drive with him the afternoon be- 
fore the ball. At the appointed hour, he made his appear- 
ance with an elegant little basket phaeton and two diminu- 
tive milk-white ponies. 

“ What a fairy-like equipage you have, Mr. Kennon,” 
said Elenor, as he handed her in ; “ are you not afraid our 
substantial persons will be too much for this frail carriage, 
and those little creatures ?” 

“ Not at all, the ponies are very strong, and so spirited 
I should feel almost afraid to trust so precious a life to 
their tender mercies, did I not hold the reins. Loose them, 
Harry,” to the servant, and off they darted with such 
speed, that it made Elenor catch her breath, and required 
all their driver’s strength and attention for the next few 
moments. After they had quieted a little, Elenor said : 

“How I should like to be the owner of just such a 
turnout as this. I wonder if I shall ever be so fortu- 
nate ?” 

“ Of course you will, if you wish. I think you are born 
to have everything you desire in this world ; and Miss 
Fane — ” he paused, fearing, he knew not what, but could 
he let this opportunity slip ? “ Elenor, give me the right, 

make me the happy being, to gratify your lightest wish. 


122 THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 

I entreat you to hear me in all seriousness this once, and 
believe — you must feel, you must have seen, that I love you 
truly, devotedly — that I am terribly in earnest, and you 
will not treat my love any longer as a jest — say that you 
will not ! and tell me truly, if there is any hope for me !” 

44 No, I do believe you are sincere in your avowal, Mr. 
Kennon, but I am truly sorry to think so, for I cannot bid 
you hope. I would have spared you this, as you must have 
seen, and you know now, why I would never listen seriously 
to your protestations.” 

44 0 Miss Fane ! do not tell me that there is really no 
hope for me ; do not be so cruel ! I have never loved be- 
fore — give me the faintest hope of winning you, even if it 
be years hence, and I will be content ; will you not ?” 

44 You will see how impossible this is, Mr. Kennon, when 
I tell you, my heart is entirely and wholly another’s. We 
did not wish our engagement known, but it is due to you 
under the circumstances, to tell you, that I am engaged to 
your friend, Mr. Legare.” Kennon was thunderstruck by 
this announcement ; he had not suspected it for a moment, 
and the bitter truth rendered him speechless, yet now it 
seemed very plain. Why was he such a fool as not to see 
it before he allowed himself to fall so blindly in love ! He 
drove on in silence for some time, broken at last by Ele- 
nor, who was too kind-hearted not to feel pained by his 
evident suffering. 44 1 hope you do not blame me, Mr. 
Kennon. I am very sorry.” 

44 No, I do not blame you, but I do blame Hugh ; it 
was unkind to see me rushing blindly on my fate and not 
to warn me ; he might have told me, I would have kept his 
secret, and been spared this terrible blow — ” Just then a 
buggy, driven by two reckless youngsters dashed furiously 
past them, startling the spirited ponies so that it was as 
much as Kennon could do to prevent their rushing off in 
a mad frolic after the other vehicle. ‘‘Confound those 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOSING. 


123 

unmannerly scamps ! they’d like to have given us a run- 
away, and I don’t know if I should have cared to save Hugh 
Legare’s betrothed, but I am glad I did not have the trial — 
ho ! steady — ” 

“ Why Mr. Kennon, you could not have been so un- 
Christian,” said Elenor laughing — “ besides, where would 
have been all your boasted regard for me ? And I must free 
Hugh from blame in your eyes, at the risk of calling down 
some on my own head ; he wished to tell you of our engage- 
ment, and I would not let him, He said to me one day, 
4 Elenor, I believe Will is becoming serious in his prefer- 
ence for you, and I shall be sorry I did not tell him if it is 
so but I replied (and I really thought it, Mr. Kennon), 
‘ Nonsense, Hugh ! do not be so uneasy, Mr. Kennon is 
only trying to inveigle me into a watering-place flirtation. 
And so his apprehensions were allayed, but I know he 
would have spoken had he believed you in earnest ; so you 
must not blame him either — will you ?” 

“ Then I must bear all the blame of my blindness, and 
this pain too ; it is confounded — pardon me ! very hard, 
and I’ve a great notion to vow I will never love again, but 
keep on shamming — it does not hurt half so bad,” he re- 
turned, with an amusing mixture of the serio-comic in 
his countenance. 

“ You think so now,” replied Elenor, smiling in spite 
of herself, “ but you will soon find some sweet girl with 
whom you will laugh at the idea of your ever having 
loved anyone but her.” 

“ Never, never ! I shall never find another woman 
whom I could love as I do you ; though I must confess 
that lack of reciprocity is a pretty good antidote, but a 
bitter pill to swallow.” 

“ And I hope will soon effect a cure,” said Elenor. 
“ Do not let Hugh and I feel that you have been made 
unhappy, even for an hour, by our want of candor.” 


124 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ I shall certainly try , Miss Fane, not to be miserable,” 
replied Mr. Kennon, a little bitterly, “ but some natures — 
and I fear mine is one — only long more intensely after the 
unattainable. Well n’importe ; I’d rather suffer, than 
never to have seen and known you !” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Kennon ! You have paid me the 
highest compliment a man can pay a woman, and I shall 
always think of you kindly ; but it is time for us to turn 
back, you know how much time I shall have to devote to 
my toilet this evening.” 

“ What character do you personate, Miss Fane ?” 

“I must not tell you ; I wish to see if my dress is suf- 
ficiently suggestive to do that — will you appear en costume F’ 

“ I had not intended, but think I could personate the 
‘ forlorn lover ’ so perfectly to-night, I am tempted to try 
that character.” 

“ Oh, do !” said Elen or gayly, “ but I think you are 
almost cured now, and such an ordeal would, no doubt, 
hasten the desired end.” 

Mr. Kennon tried to smile, but it was rather the ghost 
of a smile, as he turned his ponies, and touching them up 
with a gentle tap of the whip, they sped along the smooth 
turnpike as swiftly, and almost as noiselessly, as the wind. 

The ballroom and parlors were a bewildering maze of 
beautiful women, in exquisite costumes, mingled with 
knights and troubadours, kings and queens for the nonce, 
until the eye was almost wearied with the splendor and 
brilliancy of the gay scene. 

Elenor and Ada, personated night and morning, as 
especially suited to their different styles. Elenor wore a 
light, airy crepe lisse, with foamy puffings, that looked not 
unlike the milky- way ; a sash of broad white ribbon loosely 
girdled her slight form — on one flowing end, Orion was out- 
lined in silver stars, and on the other, the Southern Cross 
shone resplendent. Above her lovely brow a silver cres- 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


125 


cent moon shed its pale beams,, and in the dusky richness 
of her hair, Yenus gleamed in rival brightness. Never had 
night more admiring worshippers, than her lovely repre- 
sentative, as she moved with sylph-like grace in the mazy 
dance. 

And a fairer Aurora never waked the dawn than Ada, 
in clouds of rose-colored tulle, with a golden coronet of 
radiating sunbeams lighting the soft brown of her hair, in 
which gold-dust sparkled like dewdrops in the sun’s first 
gladsome rays. Flowers garlanded her graceful figure, and 
trailed in profusion over her sweeping robe. 

May, as a shepherdess, coquetted with her “Highland 
laddie,” in the person of Stacey Hamilton, the gayest of the 
gay. But it is needless to mention all the striking cos- 
tumes and fine impersonations ; my readers have no doubt, 
seen a fancy-ball, and this one, of which we write, was 
doubtless much like any other. 

On the morrow, Major Stacey and his party were to 
take their leave, and Dr. Towns had also determined to 
know his fate. Ada was certainly worth the effort, and 
to-night was looking unusually sweet and winning, he 
thought ; and when he found himself alone with her under 
the soft moonlight, somewhat removed from the gay 
revellers, in a quiet promenade, he said : 

“ Miss Singleton, I cannot let you go to-morrow, with- 
out telling you that I love you, and asking your permis- 
sion to visit you as I return to Savannah. May I come, and 
will you listen to my suit ?” 

“I cannot encourage you to come, Dr. Towns, save as 
a friend,” replied Ada. 

“ But I should come as a lover— come to ask you to be 
my wife, may I not ?” 

“It would be useless, Dr. Towns; I must not let you 
come on a bootless errand ; I can give you an answer 
now, and it is this, I can never be your wife.” 


126 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ Miss Singleton, do not decide hastily, I beg you ; give 
me an opportunity of proving the depth and sincerity of 
my love ; let me come and try to win a return, if, alas, you 
do not already love another. Is this true, or is it that you 
dislike me ?” 

“No, no,” returned Ada, hurriedly, “I esteem you 
most highly, and I wish — oh, I do indeed, wish that I could 
love you as you desire, but all the love I have to give has 
long ago been lavished on one who does not, and will never 
return it ; and I tell you this, that you may know how 
hopeless your suit is. Keep my secret, Dr. Towns, which I 
have never before breathed to mortal, hardly acknowledged 
to my own heart.” 

“I will, dear Ada, inviolately ; but, surely, you will not 
persist in loving one who is indifferent to you ; let me try 
to win this love that would be such a precious boon to me, 
and so unwelcome and unprized by the blind idiot who 
knows not, or cares not for its value,” he urged. 

“ I wish it could be so, but I know my weak foolish 
heart too well ; it refuses to obey my will. Do you suppose 
I have not tried e’er this to crush out a love that can only 
bring me unhappiness ?” 

“ Poor child ! I am sorry for you, for I can now sympa- 
thize with the bitter pain of unrequited love ; but I must 
and shall at least try to efface from my heart all memory of 
the lesson which has been so ^pleasant in the learning, I 
hope with better success than you have attained. Farewell ! 
we may never meet again, but I trust in time, to you, too, 
may come a surcease of this pain !” He took her hand, 
pressed it to his lips, then led her back to the gay throng 
and disappeared. 

There was no more pleasure for Ada that night, for she 
had learned to regard Dr. Towns with the highest esteem 
and friendship ; in fact, she admired him so truly, that she 
was almost tempted to believe, that such feelings might 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


127 


surely merge into love, they seemed so nearly akin to it, 
though they only resembled the absorbing passion, she 
could but acknowledge to her own heart, that she felt for 
Hugh — “ as the mist resembles the rain.” 

Still, she was truly grieved to give him pain, and she 
thought, “Have I not acted unwisely to reject the love of 
this noble, good man ? Would it not be the surest way to 
cure myself of this mad folly, to accept the love of another ? 
I surely must learn to love him. But no, I could not do 
him the great wrong to feign a love. I do not feel, at least 
not now. No, I must wait ; sometime in the future — per- 
haps, when Hugh and Elenor are married, this love will die 
out of my foolish heart, and if he, or some other equally 
noble man seeks my hand, I may learn to love again, and 
peace and happiness at last be mine. Yes, it is better so ; 
I can wait !” and musing thus she tried to put away the 
sight of Dr. Towns’ sad face as he turned away, disap- 
pointed and unhappy at his failure to win a return of 
the hopeful love that had filled his heart. Ada was in 
her own room, which she had sought very soon after Dr. 
Towns had left her, and as she laid aside her ball-costume, 
her heart was heavy, and she almost regretted she had left 
her peaceful home, to which the prospect of so soon re- 
turning was soothing and welcome, after the excitement 
and doubtful pleasures of the last two months. 

Elenor did not take to heart so much her refusal of Mr. 
Kennon — her heart was rejoicing in a love so perfect and 
satisfying, she could not sympathize so truly in the disap- 
pointment of another — nor could she believe so entirely in 
the depth and permanency of Mr. Kennon’s passion — she 
believed it would soon pass away, and he be none the worse 
for it ; but in this she wronged him somewhat, for while he 
lacked the constancy and endurance that such men as Dr. 
Towns possess, yet he loved Elenor as deeply and truly as 
he was capable of. Still sh$ was right in believing he would 


128 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


soon recover from its effects — yes, far sooner, than the less 
versatile but stronger and deeper nature of Ada’s lover. 
“ Besides,” as she said to Hugh, “ it does not matter much 
if he feels a little of the pain he has so often inflicted on 
my sex — circumstances have made me the Nemesis to 
avenge the wrongs they have suffered at his hands.” But 
she could not help a little pang of pity and regret that she 
had been obliged to wound him, as she saw his vain at- 
tempt that night to seem gay and indifferent. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Aspendale and Roselawn were rejoicing in the return 
of their long absent inmates, and the lovely, dreamy, hazy 
October threw her enchantment over all. Hugh accom- 
panied them home to remain one short week, and the 
children were given that week of grace, or I should rather 
say Elenor, for Hugh would not hear of her resuming her 
duties until he had taken his departure ; and in fact Maud 
and Wattie were so wild with joy to be at home again, their 
father said it would be cruel to confine them to the school- 
room. until they had calmed down and explored all their 
familiar haunts. 

And to Hugh, that week, in which he had his darling 
all to himself, was worth more than a dozen at the Springs. 
They rode, walked, and sat in cosy nooks by brook and 
brake, and basked in the soft sunshine, until their very 
souls seemed drunk with the love that beautified and glo- 
rified the whole world. Hugh was sailing on a cloud- 
less sea, fearless of storms or breakers ahead, enjoying 
thoroughly the present, with only a sweet unrest and long- 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 129 

ing for the time when Elenor would be his very own, his 
wife ! But she, with her woman’s presentment was often 
startled by an undefined fear that it could not last, that 
something would occur to mar their too perfect happiness, 
and to this fear she often gave expression, but he would 
laugh at her apprehensions. 

“ No doubt it is foolish, Hugh,” she said one day, “ but 
if this mystery of my life was explained, I should not feel 
so, and I must write to Sister Florine at once. I cannot 
marry you until I know who and what I am ; I could not 
bear to have you reproach me with bringing you an uncer- 
tain origin or ignoble name.” 

“So you bring me yourself, darling, it is all I ask ; I 
know my sweet, pure flower never sprung from hybrid 
stem, or baleful source,” answered Hugh confidently. 

“ Do not be too sure, Sir Hopeful ; I fear when my ob- 
scure' and humble origin is made known, your proud spirit 
may shrink from linking your fate with one who cannot 
boast a long pedigree,” returned Elenor, thinking that, 
however humble her birth, she could not, would not be- 
lieve for a moment there was any shame attached to it. 

But the letter to Sister Florine was deferred, for Hugh 
would not spare her long enough to write. “ Wait, dar- 
ling, until lam gone,” he would plead, “there will be time 
enough ; think of the long three months that must pass — 
and each will seem an age to me before I can return to 
claim my bride.” 

But, at last, the short week was gone, and also Hugh ; 
and Elenor began to think in earnest of her letter to Sister 
Florine, whom she had never j 7 et told of her engagement. 
But now she would tell her all — for everything had been 
arranged, and the wedding day fixed for the 23d of De- 
cember. Elenor laughed softly to herself, as she pictured 
the good sister’s surprise when she should receive the let- 
ter. It ran thus : 


130 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ Dear Sister : — I hardly know how to tell you of my 
great happiness — though you may have guessed it already, 
from hints in my former letters. I am engaged to be mar- 
ried ! — for awhile we did not wish it known, but now it 
is all settled, with the knowledge and consent of Hugh’s 
(Mr. Legare’s) family. He is a brother of Mrs. Stacey, 
whose idol almost he is. She wished him to marry a very 
sweet girl — a near neighbor — whom he has known all his 
life, but he had the bad taste to fall in love with your little 
Nellie. I will not attempt to describe him, lest I should 
prove a too partial judge — but will only say — he comes 
up to my ideal of a man ! We are to be married on the 
23d of December and go for our bridal tour, to the beauti- 
ful land of flowers— sunny Florida. And now, dear sister, 
I must know all about my parents and birthplace, and have 
my guardian’s name and address, that I may write him of 
the important step I contemplate. Please get all neces- 
sary information from the Mother (of course she will not 
withhold it, under the circumstances) and let me hear 
from you as soon as possible. I will not marry any man 
with a mystery about my birth ; and, it is right funny, I 
have not told Hugh my entire name yet, but will do so, as 
soon as I can tell him all about my parents. Oh, my one 
dear friend of the lonely life that is past, thank God with 
me, that He has sent me this great happiness ! I shall 
await with impatience your answer, and your loving sym- 
pathy and congratulations. Your ever fond 

“Nellie.” 

* * * ¥t * % * 

The weeks dragged slowly to Elenor, when one, two, 
three had gone by and still no response from Sister Flo- 
rine : she had grown nervous and excited, by the long sus- 
pense and anxiety. 

‘‘Suppose, after all,” she thought, “that wretched 
woman still refuses to enlighten me — must I — will it be 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


131 


right, to marry Hugh, with this mystery hanging over 
me ?” but she could not answer the question satisfactorily 
to herself. In the meantime, Hugh’s loving, cheerful let- 
ters came every few days to comfort her, and she was not 
entirely unhappy, feeling, whatever might be the result, 
secure in his protecting, tender love. 

Elen or and Mrs. Stacey were out on the colonnade en- 
joying the lovely afternoon — it was the last day of that 
queen of months, October, and she was dying right roy- 
ally ! Shrouding her proud face in a veil of hazy mist, 
and drawing her scarlet robes about her, she awaited the 
end, defying death to rob her of one charm ! 

Elen or sat, gazing dreamily at the far-away, softly 
defined landscape beyond, and feeling a strange unrest, 
at variance with the peaceful scene, and a foreboding of 
ill, caused by the long delay to the solution of the question 
that now absorbed her thoughts, almost to the exclusion 
of her approaching marriage. She was presently aroused 
from her reverie, by the sound of horses’ feet coming 
quickly up the avenue. She looked up, and her heart 
bounded again with expectation, for she saw it was Major 
Stacey, and she knew he had been to the village for the 
evening mail. Yes, it had surely come at last ! this letter 
on which all her hopes of happiness seemed to depend ! 
Major Stacey rode up to the steps, where the children were 
sitting, wearied with play, and called out cheerily, 

“Here, Maud, take" this letter to Aunt Elenor” (he 
often called her this, when he wished to tease her, and see 
the rich blood mount to her soft olive cheek), “ and here 
is mamma’s welcome ‘ Fashion Book,’ and a letter, too,” 
then he rode on into the backyard to deliver his horse to 
the stable-boy. Elenor’s hands trembled with excitement 
as she opened her letter, and was soon devouring with 
eager eyes its contents. Mrs. Stacey was equally absorbed 
in one from Mrs. Hamilton, and the children on the floor, 


132 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


in ecstasies over the pictures in the magazine. Suddenly, 
a piercing shriek rang out on the still evening air, star- 
tling Mrs. Stacey, who, looking up, sawElenor’s letter drop 
from her nerveless hands, and her face deathly pale. She 
sprang to the girl’s side, and caught her in her arms as 
she swooned. 

“ Call papa, Maud — quick ! Elenor has fainted.” Major 
Stacey soon came, and lifting her tenderly, bore her into 
the library, and laid her on the sofa. 

“ 0 Walter, is it only a fainting-fit, or is it death ?” 
said Mrs. Stacey, with face scarcely less pale than Elenor’s, 
as she followed her husband. 

“ She has only fainted, I think, Lily ; but what could 
have caused it ?” 

“I do not know; had you not better send for Dr. 
Singleton, Walter ?” 

“No, I do not think it necessary ; she will soon revive, 

I hope ; bring your sal-volatile and cologne, Lily.” Ten- 
derly Mrs. Stacey bathed the low brow, now pallid as in 
death, while her husband held the pungent salts to the 
delicate nostrils, but still no sign of returning conscious- 
ness. He felt her pulse ; there was a faint flutter, and he 
knew it was not death, though fearfully like it. The ser- 
vants had gathered at the door, and Maumer Betty was 
doing what she could to aid in restoring the unconscious 
girl, while Patty stood looking on with streaming eyes. 
They plied every remedy, but with no perceptible effect — 
Mrs. Stacey could endure it no longer. 

“Walter, do send for the doctor, we can do noth- 
ing.” 

“ Patty, tell Tom to run as fast as his feet can carry 
him, and tell Dr. Singleton to come immediately,” said 
Major Stacey, who had also become somewhat alarmed at 
the long swoon ; “and Maumer Betty you go and have 
some water heated, and prepare Miss Elenor’s bed by the 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


133 


time the doctor arrives. What could have caused it, Lily ?” 
he asked again as the servant left the room. 

“I cannot imagine, Walter, unless it was something in 
her letter ; she was reading it, when all at once she gave a 
piercing scream, and when I looked up I saw she was faint- 
ing, and caught her just in time.” 

“ Mamma, here is Miss Elenor’s letter, she dropped it on 
the floor,” said Maud coming into the room with the open 
letter, which she held out to her mother. 

“ Shall I read, it Walter ; would it be right ?” asked Mrs. 
Stacey, as she took the letter from her little daughter, tell- 
ing her to run and play with Wattie, and keep him out of 
the room, while they cured her dear governess. 

“ Mamma, please tell me, will Miss Elenor die, like 
Aunt Maud, that Uncle Fred loved ?” 

“No, darling, I hope not ; now go. I will tell you as 
soon as she is better,” then turning to her husband again, 
“ Shall I, Walter ?” 

“ Yes, I think so ; it may throw some light on this 
strange swoon, and it is best we should know its cause.” 
Mrs. Stacey went to the window, for it was growing dusk, 
and this is what she read : 

“My Dear Nellie : — >1 have delayed so long, from a 
reluctance to give you pain, and because 1 have been try- 
ing, but without success so far, to ferret out the truth, for 
I do not believe what that wretched woman says is true. 
Remember this, and do not let it distress you, for I feel I 
know, my dear child, it must be false ! Mother Serena 
says your mother was a quadroon slave, and you are the 
child of your guardian’s brother, by this slave ; that your 
father and mother are both dead ; that she wished to keep 
you in ignorance of this, but as you insist on knowing 
who your parents were, she must tell you the bitter truth, 
but still refuses to give your guardian’s name or address, 


134 : 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


until she has his permission to do so. Now, my darling, 
try to bear this doubt and uncertainty awhile, and trust in 
God that the truth will come to light, for that it is a wil- 
ful, malicious falsehood, I believe ; and you had better not 
make any revelations until you hear from me again. I 
trust to be able to prove it false, before your marriage, and 
rejoice from my heart, dear child, that you are happy in a 
good man’s love. I will write as soon as I can get one ray 
of light ; in the meantime, do not let this temporary cloud, 
make you unhappy. God will remove it, and the sunlight 
of truth shine at last ! 

“ Your loving, sympathizing friend and sister — 

“ Florine.” 

“ 0 Walter ! poor child ! poor darling — no wonder she 
swooned ! it would be a mercy if she never waked again — 
and Hugh — it will kill him, Walter !” 

“ What is it, Lily ? tell me — quick ! she is reviving, I 

Her mother was a slave — she has negro blood in her 
veins, is it not awful !” said Mrs. Stacey shuddering, as 
she put the letter in her pocket. 

“ It is an infamous lie ! you have but to look at her, to 
be convinced of it,” exclaimed Major Stacey indignantly ; 
“ but hush ! she will hear you !” 

“I fear it is true, Walter,” returned his wife in a whis- 
per ; thinking of all the mystery and reticence regarding 
her birth, as she bent over Elenor and saw her eyelids 
quiver, then open with a frightened look in the soft, plead- 
ing eyes. 

44 What is it ? What hurt me, Mrs. Stacey ? did some 
one strike me ? — oh ! I remember, whv did you bring me 
back to life ? What is life to me now ? Oh, let me die ! 
let me die !” and she covered her face with her hands, as if 
to shut out the fearful horror that had sent her life-blood 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


135 


curdling to her heart, and drowned in a temporary oblivion 
the agonizing thought, that now came back with all its 
maddening intensity, while blessed tears came to relieve 
her overwrought brain, and sobs of anguish convulsed her 
slender form. 

“ Dear Elenor, I have read your letter ; the horrid 
statement may not be true ; try to believe this, and do not 
give way so,” said Mrs. Stacey, fondly caressing the 
stricken girl, while tears of sympathy coursed down her 
own cheeks. 

“ No, no, it is true ! it is true ! that is the reason I 
have been kept in ignorance. Oh ! why was she not mer- 
ciful ; why not still refuse to give up her dark secret ? 
But no, how could I bring this disgrace on Hugh ! my 
poor Hugh ! Oh, that I had never waked. What is life 
to me henceforth !” 

“ Elenor, you must be calm, dear child ; try to believe, 
what the good sister says. I think there can be no doubt 
that it is false ; take heart, dear girl, it will all come right. 
I myself believe it a malicious fabrication, for what end 
we do not know ; but it will yet be exposed, believe me,” 
said Major Stacey encouragingly. 

“ I thank you all for your faith, and words of comfort, 
but it is all dark to me now. Take me to my room, dear 
Mrs. Stacey, and leave me with my misery. No one can 
help me. I am alone, alone for evermore !” 

Major Stacey lifted her in his strong arms, and bore her 
upstairs — Mrs. Stacey following, and then he left them to- 
gether ; and when the doctor arrived, Elenor was in bed, 
and more calm. 

Major Stacey told him of the shock she had received, 
and the long swoon that followed, and the old doctor was 
as indignant and unbelieving as the rest. 

“ But,” he said, “ the effect on her will be the same as 
though it were true. I must see her, and give her some- 


136 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


thing to make her sleep and forget it all, or it may end in 
brain fever. Do not allude to it, and don’t let her think 
I know the cause of her attack — give Lily the hint ; now 
let me see her,” and he followed Major Stacey upstairs. 

“ Ah, my child, you are paying for that fashionable 
dissipation at the Springs perhaps, and the mischief you 
played with your numerous victims. I heard of you,” said 
Dr. Singleton playfully, as he seated himself by her bed, 
and took her hand. 

“ 0 doctor !” it was almost a wail. 

“ Hush, my dear — not a word ! I must do all the talk- 
ing, and you must be perfectly quiet ; your pulse is all 
right, let me see your tongue — why it is the usual length of 
a woman’s.” Poor Elenor ! a wan little smile flitted over 
the pale face, unused to aught but smiles of late, and tears 
welled up again, as she would have given expression to the 
bitter agony and shame with which her heart was burst- 
ing, but he checked her — 

“ Hot a word, my dear ! you must be quiet, my orders 
are imperative. I’ll fix you — here take this and go to sleep, 
and let me find you bright and well to-morrow.” 

“ I shall never be that again, doctor, never ! ” said Ele- 
nor, after she had taken the medicine. 

“ Hush — sh — sh !” said the old doctor, “ I will send 
Lily — good-night,” and he was gone, and Elenor could only 
murmur to herself : 

“ He knows it ! he knows it ! and all the world must 
know the blot, the shame, soon ! would God I had never 
waked from that ‘temporary oblivion !” and she pressed her 
hands wildly to her throbbing brain to still its fierce ex- 
citement, and crush out, if possible, the horrible, torturing 
thought. But the powerful opiate was beginning to take 
effect, and as Mrs. Stacey came in, and bent over her, she 
said dreamily. 

“ 0 Lily ! Hugh’s Lily ! never now to be mine, do you 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


137 


think I will die ? Say that I will, and .forget all this fear- 
ful, dark, mystery !” and her eyes closed wearily, and she 
slept. 

“ Thank God !” murmured Mrs. Stacey, “it will save 
her from madness, perhaps, poor girl ! what the end will 
be, God alone knows.” Sirs. Stacey went down to tell the 
doctor, who was still with Major Stacey, that Elenor was 
sleeping — and making her arrangements, she returned to 
spend the night with the stricken girl, catching what rest 
she could, as she reclined, still dressed, on the bed by her 
side. 

Elenor did not rouse from her long, death-like slumber, 
until noon of the next day. Dr. Singleton had called in 
the morning, and said it was well, “Do not let her be dis- 
turbed, she will herself awaken, as soon as the effect of the 
opiate passes off ; then I trust all danger of brain fever will 
be over. Try to divert her mind from her trouble — do not 
let her talk of, or dwell on it. ” 

But this was no easy task. As soon as she was fully 
roused from sleep, Mrs. Stacey begged her to take some 
breakfast, and she consented to try, but only managed to 
swallow a cup of strong coffee, and eat a few mouthfuls of 
toast. The tempting broiled chicken, rolls, omelette, and 
other dainties were left untouched, much to Maumer Bet- 
ty’s disgust, who had given her personal supervision to its 
preparation, and arrayed it as temptingly as possible on 
the waiter, and ^vyhen she had carried it, disappointed 
away, Elenor said : 

“ Mrs. Stacey, I am going to get up and dress ; I have 
no time to waste in bed.” 

“No, dear, wait until you are stronger,” urged her 
friend. 

“ I am as strong as I shall ever be until this thing is 
settled. This doubt and uncertainty will kill me ; better, far 
better, the real truth, however terrible, than this suspense. 


138 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


I shall write to Hugh,, and tell him he is free, and then to 
Sister Florine, and tell her I am coming to her at once. I 
must and will find out whether or not this horrid thing is 
true, and if it is, I shall enter a convent, never more to 
look upon the world, this beautiful world, dear friend, 
where I was so happy, ah, too happy ! I knew, I knew it 
could not last — 

‘ ’Twas bright, ’twas heavenly, but ’tis past !’ ” 

“ 0 Elenor, my dear child L don’t speak so despair- 
ingly, it will all be made plain ; try to hope for the best, 
and don’t undertake this now, I beg of you,” said Mrs. 
Stacey, w r onderingat the girl’s calmness and determination, 
when she had been so stricken by the blow at first. But it 
was only the calmness of desperation. Elenor knew that 
inaction for her, in her present condition, was simply mad- 
ness ; so* she replied : 

I must, dear friend ; I shall go crazy if I cannot do 
something — at least, make an effort, to solve this dark 
enigma. I know you and your kind husband will absolve 
me from my engagement, which would so soon have closed 
anyway, for I could not teach under existing circum- 
stances. I shall w T rite a few lines to Sister Florine, and 
follow them as soon as possible. This is Tuesday, I can be 
ready to leave Thursday morning ; I must go to the dearest 
friend I have known.” 

“ Are you sure you feel equal to it, my dear ? Can 
you not defer writing until to-morrow ?” 

“ Oh no, I must write now ; my heart is almost bursting 
to unburden itself to the two I love best on earth, and who 
I know love me above everything else. Dear friend, let me 
write,” and tears came in the lovely, pleading eyes, as she 
thought of those so dear, both perhaps to be so soon lost 
to her forever. Mrs. Stacey answered tenderly, 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VING . 


139 


“ Certainly, dear, if you feel strong enough ; but let 
me help you dress, and I will send Patty to light a fire ; it 
is a little chilly, and it will look cheerful. You know, 
dear Elenor, my husband and I sympathize most truly 
with you, and hope and believe it is all a terrible mistake, 
if not a wilful falsehood.” 

“ Yes, I know, and thank you, and as you say, it may 
be false ; but I must accept it as true until its falsehood 
is proven, and act accordingly.” 

But it was long after Mrs. Stacey left her, before Elenor 
could summon strength and courage to write to Hugh ; 
the few lines to Sister Florine were soon dispatched, only 
this : 

“ November 1st, 18 — . 

“ Dear Sister : — I am coming to you at once — shall 
leave here the 3d (Thursday). Meet me at the depot, and 
go with me to a hotel, or any boarding-house you may se- 
lect. I cannot go within those hated walls, or see that 
woman yet. Your unhappy — 

“ Nellie.” 

/ 

Then the struggle came ! yet she did not falter in her 
determination, although an almost heart-broken wail was 
wrung from her. “ Oh, my love, my love ! how can I give 
you up ! it is the cruelest pang of all !” She threw herself 
on the rug, and burying her face in her arms, let the 
waves of sorrow sweep over her soul unchecked. She 
heeded not the passage of time — it might have been 
hours, it might have been only moments, she could not tell. 
Patty knocked at her door, for it was growing dusk, and 
her little maid had come to light her lamp. Like David 
she arose from the earth, and washed herself, and said to 
her heart, “I shall go to him (not now, but sometime) 
but he shall not return to me.” Yes, her lover, her bonny 
Hugh was dead to her— a gulf deeper, darker, than the 


140 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVINO . 


river of death divided them now ; but “ one comforting 
thought remained, which contrasted with the darkness 
of all else, gleamed out as an actual joy,” Hugh had 
loved her — she believed, would always love her, nothing 
could destroy that. 

“ Patty, my good girl, mend my fire a little, and then 
you can go, I shall not need you any more to-night ; and 
tell your mistress, I do not wish any supper, but that I am 
feeling better, and she need not trouble to come up again 
to-night. ” 

“ Yes’um ; and Misses told me to ax you how you was 
feelin’ ; but you orter eat somethin’, Miss El’n’r ; won’t you 
jes have a cup ob tea ?” 

“ Well, Patty, you may bring me a cup of tea, very 
strong, nothing else ; I am very busy, and must be alone.” 
******* 

“ 0 my darling ! how can I tell you what I know will 
make you miserable — and yet I must ! I cannot bring 
disgrace and shame to you, and it would be both, to link 
your fate with mine now, for they tell me my mother was 
a quadroon slave, not even a lawful wife ! Think of it, 
Hugh, and imagine, if you can, my agony ! And added to 
this, I must also lose you ! This is the sharpest pang of all 
— that I must say, Hugh, you are free ! I cannot bring you 
a tainted name, a disgraceful origin — no ! and you cannot 
wish it. Farewell ! my beloved, forever ! In that hap- 
pier clime, where no earth-stain clings, where all are alike 
pure, I trust we may meet again, and our severed spirits 
rejoice in a blessed re-union ! TJntil then — farewell ! I 
shall never cease to love, and pray for you, my darling ! 
my love ! dearer than life, to your poor fond, unhappy— 

44 Elenor.” 

This was her letter to Hugh. The next day she spent 
in packing, and in taking a long, lonely walk to look her 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


141 


last on the scene of her greatest happiness, and greatest 
sorrow ! All that Major Stacey and his wife could say to 
dissuade her from going was of no avail; and Thursday 
morning the sad, crushed woman that was driven out of 
the gates of Aspendale — she thought, forever, bore little 
resemblance to the happy, hopeful girl that entered them, 
little more than one year before ! 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Where was Col. Stacey during these dark days that 
had fallen on the girl he had loved, and felt so deep an in- 
terest in still ? True, he regarded her now with the calm, 
pure affection he would have felt for a sweet young sister 
or niece, yet she had taken a deep hold on his heart, and I 
think was dearer to him than even his nearest of kin. But 
he was absent from home when her trouble came, and 
Elenor had been glad that this was so ; for she felt that 
not even Col. Stacey could help her in this trying hour ; 
and she could not bear to see the pain of those who cared 
for her, yet were powerless to remove, or even assuage, the 
bitter pain she must endure. She had taken some comfort 
in the thought, that the sight of Hugh’s suffering when he 
should learn the harrowing truth, would be spared her. 

When Col. Stacey returned a few days after Elenor had 
left Aspendale, he was much shocked and grieved at the 
tidings that greeted him, and would have followed at once 
the, as he believed, wronged girl, to aid her if possible, and 
to confront and demand the truth from the woman who 
had dared to assert this monstrous and improbable story ! 
If he only had done so, how much misery he might have 


142 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


saved all concerned ! But his brother and sister-in-law 
both advised against it. “ You can do no good, Fred ; she 
has gone to her best friend, and she — an inmate of the 
convent, who has influence with the Mother— can certainly 
do more than you could, to clear up the mystery,” they 
both urged, and he yielded — fatal yielding ! And while 
Ool. Stacey consented to wait until they heard from Elenor, 
he wrote to her immediately, offering his services, if he 
could be of any possible use to her, expressing his deep 
sympathy in her temporary trouble, and his entire convic- 
tion of the falsity of the assertion, etc. And restlessly he 
waited for tidings of the unhappy girl. 

But to Hugh was the blow most crushing : he was 
almost beside himself ; business, society, everything was 
hateful to him — only one thought was burned into his 
brain, “ the child of a slave! negro blood in her veins ! 
Never will I believe it, my pure, beautiful darling !” And 
a few days saw him steaming away to Aspendale, to take 
counsel of Major Stacey and his sister, before he hastened 
to follow Elenor (for Mrs. Stacey had written him of her 
departure) and assure her of his unchanging love, and urge 
her to marry him at once, so that he might aid her more 
effectively in proving the vile assertion, the cunninglv de- 
vised falsehood he believed it to be. But when he reached 
Aspendale. his sister bitterly opposed such a step, much as 
she loved Elenor ; and as truly sorry as she felt for her, she 
could not endure the thought of her proud brother marry- 
ing a girl on whose parentage rested the shadow of a doubt. 
All this must be cleared up before she would ever counte- 
nance it — true, she had not known anything positive before 
— but she never dreamed of shame in connection with that 
proud, refined girl ; but now, when the mystery had as- 
sumed so dark a hue , the idea was horrible to her". 

Hugh ! my darling, my only brother, listen to your 
sister,” she pleaded, "and wait ; there can be no harm in 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


143 


that ; write to Elenor, if you will, but do not go yet, we 
shall hear from her in a few days no doubt, and then you 
can decide what is best to do.” 

“I have decided now, Lily, I shall go; I should hate 
myself, if I could give up the woman I love better than 
my life, because the vile breath of slander, from one wicked 
woman, has dared to assail her ! I only came by to learn 
the name of the little village that has been her home here- 
tofore, and to which I suppose she has returned. No ; I 
shall leave here to-morrow, God willing, and never rest 
until she has given me the right to protect her against all 
such malicious assailants,” said Hugh with decision. 

4 4 Hugh, you force me to it, and I can be as obstinate 
as you, for never will I receive Elenor Fane as a sister, with 
this doubt resting on her birth ! Now, you can choose be- 
tween us.” 

44 I have chosen, Lily ; Elenor is dearer to me than all 
the world — without her, life is valueless, but I am sorry to 
lose my sister,” he returned calmly, but still decidedly. 

44 0 Hugh ! you will break my heart ! I, that have 
loved you so, and been mother and sister both in one !” 
exclaimed Mrs. Stacey, bursting into tears, as she arose and 
left the room. Hugh paced restlessly to and fro — he 
grudged every moment that detained him from the sweet 
task of comforting his darling ; he longed for the morning, 
that he might fly away on the wings of love to her side, and 
fold her in his strong, protecting arms — close, close, from 
every breath that would sully her angelic purity, or offend 
her refined, sensitive nature ! 

* * * * * * * 

When Elenor reached Linvale, she found Sister Florine 
waiting her at the depot, and was soon clasped in her lov- 
ing arms. Almost in silence they drove to the select 
boarding-house where Sister Florine had taken rooms. 
As soon as they were shut within from prying eyes, Ele. 


144 TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO V1NG. 

nor’s fortitude gave way, and she wept and sobbed, on the 
faithful bosom of her friend, in such terrible abandonment 
of grief, that Sister Florine was alarmed. 

“ Oh, my dear child, don’t give way so, you distress me, 
and will make yourself ill ; try to be more composed — your 
tears may be useless. I hope to be able to prove this ; until 
then, hope for the best, and put your trust in God. He is 
leading you by a way you know not now, but shall know 
hereafter. Let this trial draw you nearer to Him, and 
even the thing you so dread and loathe, may prove a bless- 
ing in disguise.” 

“ 0, Sister Florine ! how can you say that ? how can 
you think it could ever prove a blessing — the degrading, 
humiliating fact, that my mother was a slave, and I, the 
child of shame ? It is horrible ! I shall go crazy — I cannot, 
cannot endure it !” 

“ My dear, you are not to blame if it should be true ; 
in the sight of God you would be just as pure, and your 
soul as precious, as though you were the descendant of 
kings,” said Sister Florine, trying to soothe and comfort 
the distressed girl. 

“ All that you say may be true, dear sister, but that 
does not take away the stain and disgrace in the eyes of 
the world, or make me a fitting mate for Hugh Legare. 
Oh, my love ! my love ! how can I bear to give you up for- 
ever !” and Elenor threw herself on the bed, and buried 
her face in the pillows. 

“ You may not have to give him up, dear child ; you 
are both young, and can afford to wait. Try to take 
comfort, and let me send up your tea— I hear the bell now. 
Bathe your eyes, and try to eat something.” 

“I shall never feel like eating any more, I think. I 
have not, since I received your letter that crushed every 
hope, and darkened all my life.” 

“ This is wrong, my dear. But I will go, and you must 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


145 


eat, if only for my sake, will you not ?” and Sister Florine 
kissed her fondly and descended to the supper room, where 
gathered around the tea-table was a refined-looking circle 
of boarders, and at its head a stately gentlewoman, who 
in her reduced circumstances, and enforced character of 
landlady, bore evident trace of better days, and gentle 
birth. 

“ Mrs. Nesbit,” said Sister Florine, as she took one of 
the seats reserved for herself and Elenor, “ my ward will 
not come down to-night, as she is much fatigued by her 
journey ; please send her up one of your tempting waiters,” 
then turning to her neighbor, she led the conversation to 
other themes. 

When Sister Florine returned, she found Elenor mak- 
ing quite a pretense of eating, though you could discover 
little diminution in the quantity so daintily spread be- 
fore her. After the servant had removed the waiter, and 
they were once more alone, Elenor said : 

“ Please, dear sister, take me away from here ; let us go 
far away, where no one will know us, and we shall never 
hear of this horrible story again.” 

“ Well, dear, I have been thinking of that. I will see 
Mother Serena, and make one last effort, and if she still 
persists in her story, and refuses to give your guardian’s 
name and address, we will go abroad. I have long wished 
to travel, and if you will consent to go with, and be guided 
by me, your happiness shall henceforth be my dearest 
care ; and we will try to forget all this trouble, and leave 
everything in the hands of the good God who in His 
own time will bring light out of the darkness.” 

“ Oh, how can I thank you, dear friend ! you have been 
my good angel in the past, and I gladly yield to your guid- 
ance my future life. But do not blame me if I cannot 
forget, or regain at once my cheerfulness, even you can 
never know what it has cost me — has cost me ? 


146 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ ‘ Sorrow endeth not when it seemeth done/ and the 
struggle will still be fierce to resign all thought of Hugh, 
for I know he too will suffer as keenly as I do.” 

“ Yes, Elenor, I can imagine the trial it is to both, but 
the barrier to your hopes may be removed sooner than you 
think. If not, as I said before, you are both young, andean 
afford to wait. In the meantime it will do you no harm 
to see something of the world ; so cheer up, my darling, 
and let us think of our European tour.” 

“ But, sister, I have written to Hugh, and told him he 
was free. I did not think it right to hold him bound to 
me under the circumstances.” 

“ You did perfectly right, but if he loves you, as you 
believe he does, he will wait. And now you are so tired, 
we must not talk any more to-night. Go to bed — I have 
letters to write to my business agent, for if my last effort 
fails with the Mother, I wish to leave with you, on the first 
steamer that sails for Liverpool.” 

“ Thank God ! I think I can sleep with that hope to 
cheer me,” replied Elenor, with a brighter look than she 
had worn since the blow had fallen. 

******* 

Sister Florine’s interview with the Mother was quite as 
unsatisfactory as all the former ones had been. All the 
threats and arguments she could bring to bear were of no 
avail, she still persisted in her story, and said, “Nor will I 
give you her guardian’s name — you may do your worst, I 
defy you !” and the perplexed and distressed Sister Florine 
was fain to depart, no wiser than she came, but feeling 
that she had done all she could without resorting to the 
law. And even if that would have solved the problem, she 
did not wish to give publicity to a doubt concerning El- 
enor’s birth, so she was obliged to wait the developments 
of time to furnish a clew to the mystery. 

Quickly were their preparations made, and the day 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


147 


before Hugh reached Baltimore on his way to Linvale, the 
steamer Eureka sailed out of the harbor of New York, 
bearing Elenor away from the arms that were longing to 
enfold her in their strong clasp, and shield her from every 
trouble, and every danger ! 

Sister Florine had telegraphed to her cousin, Mr. Ham- 
ilton, a few hours before she sailed, of her departure for 
Europe (she had already apprised him of the probability 
of such a step, and intrusted to him some of her business 
affairs, etc.), accompanied by Miss Fane ; so that Hugh was 
soon in possession of the fact — for he had gone imme- 
diately to the Hamilton’s on his arrival in Baltimore, but 
with the intention of remaining but a few hours. He 
covered his disappointment as best he could, and made 
some business engagemeut a plea for his hurried visit to 
the city ; and as soon as he could, without exciting remark, 
he turned his face homeward again, weary and heart-sick ; 
and feeling that all the brightness had gone out of his life, 
that happiness for him was a thing of the past ! 

He returned to Aspendale, looking so worn and hag- 
gard, that they were seriously alarmed about him, and his 
sister forgot her anger, forgot everything else, in her anx- 
iety for her darling brother, and her efforts to soothe and 
cheer him. Even Col. Stacey was deeply concerned, as the 
days went by and nothing seemed to rouse or interest him, 
until they feared their bright, merry-hearted Hugh would 
sink into a confirmed melancholy. They advised his re- 
turn to Savannah, hoping that in the excitement of busi- 
ness and society he might sooner recover his old cheer- 
fulness ; but he was averse to going — in fact, shrank from 
all society even there, and wandered, moody, restless, and 
alone, amid the dear haunts and walks consecrated by the 
presence of his lost love, his dead hopes still clinging with 
ivv-like tenacity around the crumbling ruins of the fair 
castle he had thought so stately and enduring ! 


CHAPTER XX. 


Tarrying but a few days in England and La Belle 
France, Sister Florine and Elenor hastened to spend the 
remaining months of winter in the more genial climate of 
Italy. The latter had recovered much of her former cheer- 
fulness — she resolutely put away the dark shadow that 
enshrouded her life, determined to forget, if possible, its 
threatening ruin, and to rejoice in the glad sunshine, deli- 
cious skies, and glorious scenery of this land of enchant- 
ment. 

They decided to spend the Christmas holidays in Rome, 
to witness the novel and splendid ceremonies, that are 
seen nowhere else in the world — so imposing and magni- 
ficent as in this “ city of the past.” 

Their road from Genoa to Pisa lay along the shore of 
the blue Mediterranean ; now off in quiet, delicious val- 
leys, smiling with picturesque cottages, lemon and orange* 
groves ; now up and down over torrents, and along dark 
precipices ; now under long avenues of poplar and aspen 
and sycamores, festooned with vines, and past gardens and 
hedges of roses in full bloom, sweetening the air with the 
very sweetness of paradise. And then the sunsets ! When 
the splendid lights on cloud and sea seemed God’s own 
transcendent glory made visible to man, when the very sky 
seemed to have descended and wrapped itself around the 
purple and golden hills ; when heaven and earth seemed 
embracing in light, and blending in a bridal of beauty,” 
Elenor felt that “the vision of those mountains and val- 
leys would never fade from her soul ; that that sunlight 
( 148 ) 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


149 


would stream through all her future life ; that that mu- 
sic of wave and tree would never wholly die on her ear ; 
that those roses would be a fragrant memory in her death 
chamber !” Even Hugh and his sufferings were forgotten, 
the horrible nightmare of apprehension in regard to her 
birth was dispelled, and she rejoiced in life and youth and 
health, while her soul went out in adoring gratitude to the 
great Creator of this grand panorama of sublimity and 
beauty ! 

Sister Florine enjoyed it in a more undemonstrative, 
but no less appreciative spirit, and was rejoiced to see the 
change wrought in the sorrow-stricken girl. 

On their arrival in Rome, she made such pleasant ar- 
rangements for their sojourn, that they soon felt quite at 
home, and interested, with the aid of “ Murray,” in lay- 
ing out their plans for the future. But as they were 
barely in time for the Christmas holidays, they could do 
little else for the first week, but witness its impressive and 
gorgeous ceremonials, and listen to the sweet, solemn, 
grand music. 

When the city became more quiet, they did not find 
time hang heavy on their hands ; each day was filled with 
pleasure, pure and elevating, with sights new and strange. 
The lovely walks and drives were a constant source of en- 
joyment ; every morning they greeted the rising sun from 
the noble Monte Pincio, and strolled in luxurious idleness 
beyond the Porta del Popolo, inhaling with silent, dreamy 
rapture the balmy air, and basking in the soft sunshine 
of this lovely land. 

There was one quiet walk along the Tiber, that was 
Elenor’s favorite. Here she would sometimes wander alone 
(when she felt even the society of her friend a restraint) 
and muse in pensive sadness on the sweet, pure, tender 
love-dream that for a few short months had blessed her life, 
and seemed so enduring in its perfect, soul-satisfying com- 


150 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING . 


pleteness, but now — dissipated forever ! Nothing remained 
save its precious memory, that she felt, she knew, would 
never wholly die ! 

But rarely did she permit herself to dwell on the past, it 
was fraught with too much pain, awakened too keen regret. 

She and Sister Florine would often attend vespers at 
the Trinita de Monte, a church on the Pincio, where the 
sweet singing of the nuns lifted her heart above earth’s 
loves and sorrows, inspiring her with almost a divine renun- 
ciation of all its sin-tainted, uncertain pleasures, and wooing 
her to the safe seclusion those sweet singers had chosen. 

And thus the time passed for the most part, swiftly and 
pleasantly to both, and brought healing on its wings, in 
her interested, ever- varied life, more rapidly to Elenor than 
to Hugh. 

Sister Florine had as yet received letters only from her 
business agent and her cousin, Mr. Hamilton ; but now 
came a letter to Elenor from Hugh which had been for- 
warded by Sister Florine’s agent in London (to whom she 
had written her friends in America to direct all their let- 
ters, and Mrs. Stacey had obtained the address from Mr. 
Hamilton). It was a touching appeal, pleading with her 
not to cast him off — to let him come to her, and give her 
the protection of his name, and the right to comfort her 
in every trouble ; that together they could be happy, far 
away from every whisper of the vile slander. He could 
not live without her, life held nothing that could compen- 
sate for her loss ; that if she would only say the word, he 
would soon be with her, never more to part, etc. 

It was the first time Elenor had heard direct from 
Hugh, since she had known that they must part, and his 
earnest, noble letter stirred her soul to its very depths — 
it opened anew the floodgates of her pent-up sorrow, and 
lacerated afresh her cicatrized heart. She yearned, with 
an almost uncontrollable desire to bid him come, to dare, 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING . 


151 


and defy everything for her still faithful, devoted love ; but 
she was too noble to yield but a momentary assent to his 
proposition, or take advantage of his generosity, so she 
could only write in answer, as she had written before, and 
then sit down amid her ruined hopes, and fight anew the 
battle with her own heart for submission, and for strength 
to endure to the bitter end, hoping for peace at last. 
******* 

The only thing that Hugh looked forward to with a ray 
of hope was Elenor’s reply to his letter ; but weeks dragged 
their slow length along before it came, and then the last 
spark — not of love, would it had been — but of hope was 
extinguished in his bosom ; and he grew desperate, yes, 
and angry, that the noble girl would not suffer him to im- 
molate himself on the altar of his love — a ready and will- 
ing victim ! “ She no longer loves me,” he said, to his 

own heart, “ or she could not so readily give me up — if I 
choose to brave all, what is that to her ? Why should she 
prevent me ? she does not love me as I do her.” Ah, can 
any man be made to understand the depth and purity and 
unselfishness of woman’s love, that will sacrifice itself be- 
fore it will bring wrong or reproach on the beloved ob- 
ject of its devotion — that will clie and make no sign, rather 
than live less pure and stainless, in the eyes of him she 
adores ! Our hero, it seems, did not ; at least, not then — 
not in the first pangs of his second disappointment — but 
long after he knew how unjust he had been. 

Mrs. Stacey’s cherished plan was beginning to revive — 
the thought would intrude, “perhaps it is best so ; Hugh 
cannot mourn forever over his blighted hopes, and of 
course all thought of a union with Elenor is at an end, 
even he must see and feel this, and he may yet learn to 
love Ada.” Ah, Mrs. Stacey you forget love comes not at 
our bidding — in vain we court the influence of the capri- 
cious little god — like sleep, we woo in vain his potent touch, 


152 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


his fickle presence ; but oft unknown does he enter and 
take possession of the heart, nor can our strongest efforts 
dislodge him from his throne ! 

But Mrs. Stacey trusted to time and propinquity to 
accomplish her darling wish, and she knew they were pow- 
erful allies ; in the meantime she inveigled Ada to Aspen- 
dale, and Hugh to Roselawn, whenever she could do so 
without exciting their suspicions as to any ulterior motive. 
True, her paramount and present aim was to cheer and in- 
terest Hugh, and wean him, if possible, from his useless re- 
pinings over his shattered hopes, for she really believed the 
gulf that now divided him from Elenor was as deep and 
wide, and far more impassable than the ocean that rolled 
between them ; and thought she was acting for his best in- 
terest and happiness to imbrue his mind with the hopeless- 
ness of cherishing any longer a thought of that poor un- 
fortunate girl. 

Col. Stacey might perhaps have exerted a counteracting 
influence, but he was absent from home a good deal during 
the winter — part of the time in Atlanta, winning golden 
opinions from his constituents, and the public generally, 
and eliciting the admiration and commendation of the older 
members of the legislature (to say nothing of the fairer 
portion of the assembly’s audience) by his stern adherence 
to the principles of his party, and his earnest efforts for the 
best interest of his native State. 

And so Mrs. Stacey labored unchecked, towards the 
consummation she so devoutly wished, and Hugh and El- 
enor, separated by sea and land, were slowly drifting far- 
ther apart — a more inexorable barrier was steadily rising 
in its awful reality between them ; e’er the truth should be 
revealed that would agonize both hearts with a pang of re- 
gret keener and more poignant than they had yet experi- 
enced when the sad refrain — “ it might have been,” would 
surge through their brain with maddening iteration ! 


CHAPTER XXL 


One soft April day, Hugh asked Ada to marry him. 
She was taken completely by surprise, and was silent from 
sheer astonishment for some moments ; at last she said : 

“ Hugh, you do not love me — you still love Elenor — w T hy 
not wait yet a little longer ? The truth may soon c-ome 
out, and the difficulties that now prevent your union be re- 
moved. Were I to consent to what you ask, and the time 
should come when you could without hesitation marry the 
woman you love, you would hate me for having come be- 
tween you ; no, let me still be your friend, and wait with 
patience for Elenor.” 

“ I fear it is useless waiting, dear Ada, and I am mis- 
erable. If I can find solace and comfort in your love, you 
will not refuse me the boon, will you ?” 

“ No ; not if 1 knew that by marrying you I could add 
to your happiness, and if I thought you would never regret 
the step. But will my acceptance really make you hap- 
pier ?” asked Ada, with thrilling, anxious heart. 

“I most truly believe it will, dear friend, or I should 
not urge it.” Ada did not know, he hardly knew himself, 
how much more Hugh was thinking of her happiness than 
his own, or how entirely happiness now seemed out of the 
question as regarded himself, nor did he realize all his pro- 
posal to Ada involved, for “ a man may feel that his life 
is wrecked, yet until he has taken upon himself vows that 
must be performed, and bound himself to an allegiance 
that nothing but death can end, is he roused to the con- 
sciousness that all is over.” And Hugh felt it was but a 
( 153 ) 


154 : 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


small thing for him to give his life to her who had so long 
given him all the love of her true heart ; the life, that had 
lost all its sweetness, and all its value to him. If it would 
secure this woman’s happiness, was it not the best and no- 
blest use to which he could devote it ? Poor Hugh ! he had 
missed the prize he coveted, and he was miserable — more 
wretched than he could endure. He who all his life long 
had seen every wish gratified — and he longed to be made 
happier, to forget, if possible, his disappointment ; and he 
honestly believed what he said, he thought Ada’s pure af- 
fection would compensate for, and reconcile him, as noth- 
ing else could, to his great loss, while her happiness would 
be an aim for which to live. 

After a long silence, in which Ada was trying to answer 
the question satisfactorily to her own heart, not that she 
doubted such a step would be greater joy than she had ever 
dared to hope for, but would she be right to take advan- 
tage of his offer, made she feared, in his despairing effort 
to attain some imaginable alleviation of his misery. At 
last, she said earnestly, and with tears in her sweet, violet 
eyes, 

•'* If it will do this, dear Hugh, and mind you answer me 
truly, as you have to give account at the last day, I will 
marry you ; for I had rather have the second place in your 
heart, than the first place in the heart of any other man.” 
How often Ada thought of this answer in the years that 
followed ; and wondered if there ever lived a woman content 
with the second place in a man’s heart, at least, a man who 
holds the first place in hers. 

“ Bless you for those words, dear friend. I do believe 
you can add greatly to my happiness, and comfort and 
cheer me, as no one else can ; and I will be a true, and 
tender husband to you, so help me God !” answered Hugh, 
with deep solemnity ; and he kept his vow, as far as mor- 
tal man could. 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


155 


And so when the first breath of the May’s soft, fragrant 
air caressed, the flowers, Hugh and Ada were quietly mar- 
ried in the parlors at Roselawn, and Mrs. Stacey’s life-long 
wish was gratified at last — but at what a fearful cost, she 
little dreamed. 

As Hugh kissed the pure, pale face of his bride, a wild 
feeling of regret, a presentment of evil, at what he had 
done, came over him ; and he realized for the first time, 
that she whom he had vowed to love, he did not love ) and 
one, who was more than all the world beside, was now lost 
to him hopelessly, inexorably ! But Ada was so calmly 
happy, looked so like the angel of comfort and consolation 
she hoped to be to him, that he could not doubt for many 
moments the wisdom of the step he had taken. “ At 
least,” he said to himself, “ she will be happy, and I — can 
still endure.” 

They intended to make Baltimore their home ; Hugh 
wanted to be far away from the theatre of his greatest hap- 
piness, and greatest sorrow, and he hoped in new scenes, 
and a new life, to be able to forget it all, and crush out the 
love that had been his blessing, but had now become his 
bane. 

* * * * * * * 

Col. Stacey alone regretted the marriage, and had grave 
fears for the ultimate happiness of both Hugh and Ada ; 
but he did not lift a finger to prevent it, if he could have 
done so, he felt it was not his right ; and after all it might 
prove for the best, yet he could not help wishing that 
Hugh had waited. And his heart yearned over the gen- 
tle, stricken girl who seemed to have dropped out of their 
lives, and out of their memories, and this he knew would 
be an added pang to what she was already enduring. He 
had also been thinking a good deal within the last few 
weeks of his ward and niece, poor Jack’s daughter, and 
fancying it might be rather pleasant after all, to have her 


156 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


in his lonely home ; and a few days before Hugh’s marriage 
finding himself alone with his brother, he said : 

44 Walter, I have determined to go and see after Jack’s 
little girl — if her education is not finished it ought to be ; 
but every time I have hinted in my letters, at taking her 
away, the Mother would write me that Nellie was very 
anxious to remain longer, and complete such and such 
studies, so I have yielded ; but one thing I can but think 
strange — I have repeatedly written to Nellie, and begged 
her to write to me herself, but the Mother always makes 
some lame excuse for her, so I intend to go on at once, 
and bring her home willing, or unwilling.” 

44 But you will wait until after Hugh’s marriage, will 
you not ?” asked Walter. 

4 4 Yes ; but I shall start the next day. I grow more 
impatient and apprehensive, the more I think of it, and 
fear I may regret having left her so long and so en- 
tirely in the hands of a stranger, for I promised Jack to 
be a father to her.” 

44 Oh, she is well enough ; a convent is a safe place 
surely, and they are proverbially kind to children, I believe 
— but it was a strange fancy, his wanting her brought up 
in a convent.” 

44 You know it was his wife’s dying request — he was too 
good a Protestant to have desired it otherwise ; besides, you 
were unmarried at the tjrne, and Jack knew our proud sis- 
ter Ellen would not care to have the child of a mesalli- 
ance in her own family, so what could he do ? I fear she 
will be a confirmed Bomanist.” 

44 1 expect so, but any way, I suppose you feel bound to 
take her when her education is finished ; but it is a great 
bother. I wish Jack had made a different marriage, poor 
fellow ! I hope she is a Stacey, and the plebeian blood may 
not be apparent said Major Stacey, who had never seen 
this offspring of his brother’s ill-fated marriage, and had 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


157 


really known little of this black sheep of the family, ee wild 
Jack Stacey,” as he was called. Being the oldest son, he 
was off at college before the other two boys grew up, and 
when they in turn went, soon after Jack came home — be- 
fore they were through, Jack had again left for his father’s 
plantation in Louisiana ; so they saw little of each other, 
still they retained in lively remembrance some of their old- 
est brother’s wild escapades, and how they had always re- 
garded him with a certain awe, not unmixed with admira- 
tion in their youthful minds. 

Jack had been a great grief to his parents, for he was 
inclined to be dissipated, and they hoped a few years in 
the country would do much to reform his habits and tame 
him down. 

While staying on his father’s plantation, he frequented 
a little village near by, and there met a pretty French cre- 
ole girl, whose father kept a drinking saloon, of which 
Jack was one of his best patrons. He often lingered to 
talk with the sprightly, dark-eyed Nora, and no doubt un- 
der the influence of her father’s warmth-inspiring potations 
he did make love to the girl in a jesting way. Of this 
the cunning parents took advantage, and when Jack 
(as he told them at home, on the only visit he ever made 
afterwards) was more than usually under the influence of 
drink, they inveigled him into a marriage with their daugh- 
ter. When he became sober, and found what had been 
done, he was nearly beside himself, but what could he do ? 
The marriage was legal, and poor Nora, who was not a 
party to the deception practised, was so grieved and dis- 
tressed, when she learned that Jack had not married her 
of his own free will, that he could not find it in his real]^ 
good, tender heart to add to her distress by suing for a di- 
vorce. So he took her away with him, determined she 
should never hold any communication again with her 
parents or her former friends ; and she was quite willing 


158 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VINO. 


to give up everything for Jack, whom she loved as truly 
and tenderly, as a high-born wife could have done. The 
serious consequences of his dissipated life, so roused, and 
brought him to reflection, that it made a steady man of 
him, for the few short years that he lived afterwards. And 
while the girl was not an entirely fit and congenial com- 
panion for him, yet she was so bright and loving — so will- 
ing to be taught by Jack, and anxious to become a more 
fitting mate for him, that he grew to love her more and 
more — and when their little daughter was born, Jack was 
almost happy ; and would not have been ashamed to show 
his wife and child, to his proud family at Stacey Hall. 

They both fell victims to that terrible scourge — yel- 
low fever, when their only child — the little Nora, was four 
years old. When Jack, who survived his wife several weeks, 
found himself attacked, he wrote to his brother Fred, com- 
mitting his child to his care, in the event of his death, and 
giving him all needful instruction in regard to his wishes 
concerning her, and begging him to come as soon as his 
letter reached him, which Fred Stacey did, but was too late 
to see poor Jack — he had been buried a week. He hast- 
ened to the asylum for infants where his brother’s let- 
ter informed him he had placed his little girl, and took her 
immediately away to the convent, also named in the letter, 
as the one in which Jack desired her to be placed. The 
child had been named for her 'mother, and Jack’s only 
sister — Ellen Nora, but blended into one name, and writ- 
ten — Elenora. But her father always called her Nellie — 
thus he named her in his letters to his brothers, and as 
Nellie, Col. Stacey always thought, and spoke of her. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


The morning after Hugh’s marriage, saw Col. Stacey on 
his way North to carry out his design with regard to his 
niece, who had so long been left in the seclusion of a con- 
vent-school. He only stopped a few hours with his sister 
in Baltimore, promising to remain longer on his return 
with their brother’s daughter. 

“ You will be glad to see Jack’s little girl, will you not 
Ellen ?” he asked Mrs. Hamilton, though he knew she had 
never taken much interest in the child. 

“ Yes, I should like to see her for her father’s sake. I 
hope we shall have no cause to be ashamed of her, but I 
fear I can never love her much, or feel that she is so nearly 
related to us. How old is she, Fred ?” 

“ I think she was about four years old when her father 
died — that has been twelve or thirteen years — she must be 
at least, seventeen now. I cannot realize it, I was expect- 
ing to see a child, but she must be quite a young lady — 
nearly grown, I should think.” 

“Certainly, she is older than Stacey, I remember. 
And so you are really going to take her home with you ? 
It will be a great care and responsibility for a single man, 
Fred — you ought to marry, if only for the girl’s sake,” said 
his sister, watching anxiously the effect of her remark, for 
she knew it was a tabooed subject with him. 

“ I think I shall like the responsibility,” he replied ; 
“ I find myself growing very anxious to see her, and have 
her to brighten my lonely home.” 

“Yes, Fred, lonelv, because you will have it so. — Many 
( 159 ) 


160 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VINO. 


a noble, fair woman would be glad to share it with you, 
but you still 

‘ Sigh for the touch of a vanished hand, 

And the sound of a voice that is still.’ 

This is wrong, my dear brother ; I do so wish you would 
marry ; I think you would be happier.” 

“ I am not unhappy, Ellen ; and I have never seen but 
one woman whom I thought for a moment, could fill my 
lost darling’s place, and she loved another — so you see my 
loneliness is not altogether my fault,” replied Col. Stacey, 
smiling kindly, and not in the least disturbed by his sis- 
ter’s suggestion in regard to marriage. 

“By the way, Fred, I was very sorry Walter lost his 
governess. Her health failed, Eveline wrote us, and she 
seemed rather glad to have some excuse for taking the girl 
abroad — she is very much devoted to her, and Stacey fell 
quite in love with her at the Springs. Do you think her 
so very attractive ? 

“ I think her unusually lovely, and lovable, and I am 
very glad she has such a friend as your cousin,” replied her 
brother. 

“ Stacey thought Hugh was in love with her, though I 
suppose he was mistaken, as he has married Ada Singleton ; 
but you have not told me anything about the wedding. — I 
hear they are coming to Baltimore to live ; is that so ?” 

“ I believe it is, but I must go. — I will tell you every- 
thing you wish to know on my return, which will be as 
soon as I possibly can. — G-ood-by.” 

As Col. Stacey sped along over the same route that he 
had travelled so long ago, with the little, dark gipsy-look- 
ing child, who clung to him fondly, calling him pere — so 
striking was his resemblance to her father, whom they had 
left sleeping under the soft skies of Louisiana — he thought 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING . 


161 


remorsefully of his neglect, and his conscience reproached 
him, that he had not before looked after the child in per- 
son — and he was moved with a strange yearning to see, 
and clasp her in his protecting arms, that he had never 
felt before, in all the years that were past ; and mingled 
with this feeling, was a foreboding of ill, he could not sup- 
press, or account for. The journey seemed interminable — 
but at last, the little village of Farnham was in sight. 

Col. Stacey hardly tarried long enough at his hotel to 
rest and freshen his toilet, when he hastened to the con- 
vent of the Sacred Heart. He handed his card to the ser- 
vant who answered the bell, and waited impatiently in the 
reception room. Very soon a meek, gentle-looking woman 
made her appearance. 

“ Mother Serena, I suppose I have the pleasure of ad- 
dressing/*’ he said with quiet dignity, as he rose from his 
seat. “ I have come for my niece — Nellie Stacey ; let me 
see her immediately, if you please.” 

“ I am not Mother Serena, Col. Stacey, and your niece 
is not here ; Mother Serena took her with her to St. 
Josephs, in Linvale, when she took charge of that con- 
vent seven or eight years ago,” replied the meek-looking 
Mother. 

“But her letters to me have. been dated and mailed from 
this place always,” returned Col. Stacey, astonished and 
bewildered. 

“ Yes, she has always sent them here under cover, for 
me to post for her, and I received, and sent her yours 
in the same way. I always thought it strange, but she 
gave as her reason, that it would prevent confusion, and 
she did not wish you to know she had removed the child 
without your consent — though she did not think you would 
care.*’ 

“The miserable woman! she knew I would care, and 
that is the reason she concealed it. She shall explain this 


162 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


thing — there is some mystery ; I feared as much. Where 
is Linvale, Mother, and how far from here ?” 

“About fifty miles by rail.” 

“ Well, this is certainly provoking — when I expected to 
find my niece here, to have to post off again in search of 
her ; and the woman may have made away with her alto- 
gether. ” 

“'No danger of that,” replied the Mother, smiling at 
his fears, “ you will find her all right, no doubt. Mother 
Serena is rather stern and overbearing, but her character 
and position, are at stake ; and the first is above suspicion.” 

“ This is a strange freak, at any rate, and has rather a 
dark look, but I trust it can be satisfactorily explained — 
Good day ! and thank you for the trouble I have given 
you,” and Col. Stacey hurried away to catch the first train 
that would take him to Linvale. 

When he reached the place, a larger, and more preten- 
tious town than Farnham, he took a carriage at the depot, 
and bid the driver to take him at once to St. Joseph’s. 
Telling the man to wait for him, as he stopped before the 
high enclosure of a large, but dreary-looking brick build- 
ing — he went in, through the heavy iron gate, that at that 
hour was not locked. He would not send his card, but bid 
the servant or nun, who opened the door — 

“ Tell the Mother that a gentleman wishes to see her 
immediately, on very important business.” 

The woman that very soon entered, bore little resem- 
blance to the meek Mother of The Sacred Heart — she was 
haughty — and imperious-looking, with little of the odor of 
sanctity about her ; and had she not grown stouter and old- 
er, Col. Stacey, would scarcely have recognized in her the 
woman in whose care he placed the little child so long ago. 

“ Are you Mother Serena ? ” he asked, with as much 
sternness as the suave Col. Stacey could address a woman 
— bowing slightly. 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


163 


“I am,” she replied with equal hauteur. 

“ And I am the uncle of Miss Stacey,” he returned, as 
he watched her keenly, and saw that she paled at the an- 
nouncement, “ I have come for my niece ; bring her to me 
at once !” 

“ Ah — most happy to see you, Col. Stacey ; but sorry to 
be obliged to tell you, that your niece is not here she 
said, recovering her color and composure. 

“Not here ! what do you mean ? My niece not here — 
where is she ? tell me instantly !” exclaimed the now 
seriously alarmed and excited man. 

“ Calm yourself, Col. Stacey, and I will tell you — there 
is no cause for alarm. Your niece has gone abroad for the 
present, but she is in good hands. She left the convent 
entirely against mv wish and command about a year and 
a half ago, and - * returned in delicate health, when Sister 
Florine, a nice and wealthy lady, took her to Italy for the 
benefit of the climate, thinking — ” 

“ Sister Florine ! why Miss Fane went abroad with her 
— Elen or Fane, my brother’s governess — what name, 
woman ! was Elenor Fane my niece ? Say, speak ! cannot 
you tell me ?” 

“ I know nothing of Elenor Fane. Your niece, Elenora 
Stacey (I believe her middle name was Fane) went South 
as a governess ; she returned last winter in delicate health, 
Sister Florine told me, I did not see her, and has gone to 
Europe with the sister, or Eveline Howard, as she is known 
to the world.” 

“ She is — she must be the same ! Idiot that I was not to 
have known it. And the strange resemblance, too ; I see it 
all now, too late ! fool, fool that I have been ! It was that 
magnetic tie of blood which drew me to her all the time — 
my darling, my dead brother’s child !” all this he mur- 
mured to himself, in a sort of dreamy way, for he was in- 
deed almost stunned and stupefied, as the truth dawned on 


164 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


his bewildered brain. And then there came to him with 
lightning swiftness, another thought, that roused him. 

“ Woman ! fiend ! what have you done ! Oh, dearly 
shall you rue this he exclaimed, turning fiercely on her, 
“ for you lied wilfully, maliciously. You knew not a drop 
of slave-blood coursed through her veins — you knew she 
was my brother’s child, born in holy wedlock. Why did 
you put forth this wicked lie to blight her life, and ren- 
der her miserable — tell me why ? You had some motive 
surely — you could not be so heartless, else.” 

“No, I really believed it, she was such a dark little 
thing when you brought her to me, that I thought you 
were concealing the real truth ; indeed, I did, Col. Stacey — 
I hope you will pardon the error — I knew such things often 
happened in the South ; and — ” 

Woman ! you make me forget myself, and what is 
due to the sex you disgrace — I will never forgive you, and 
dearly shall you pay the penalty of your wickedness. You 
may prepare to render a strict account of how the liberal 
allowance I sent you every year, was spent (beside refund- 
ing what you have obtained by fraud, since she left your 
care). — I know it was not expended on my niece — for I have 
heard her tell how she was stinted in every way — I have 
learned all your treachery to the child I committed to your 
care, when she did not know I was her uncle. And if you 
had not driven her to it, by your cruelty, and by with- 
holding from her — for your own vile purposes — all knowl- 
edge of me, she would never have resorted to the means 
she did, to be free from you ; and the suppression of her 
name, for fear of being discovered by her guardian, whom 
you had taught her to dread. Oh, I loathe the very sight 
of such a cruel, pitiless monster, in the form of a woman ! 
I shall see a lawyer at once, and put him in possession of 
the facts and prosecute you for obtaining money under 
false pretences and for slander.” 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


165 


“ Oh, Col. Stacey, be merciful ! You surely will not do 
this — remember my holy calling and position here. “ Do 
not ruin me, I entreat you ; I was honest in my belief — I — ” 

“ Stop ! do not add sin to sin. — ‘ What measure ye mete 
shall be measured to you again,’ and may G-od have mercy 
on you, for I shall not.” Col. Stacey caught up his hat, 
and almost rushing from the house, entered the carriage, 
telling the man to drive him as rapidly as he could to the 
office of the most prominent lawyer in the place. As he 
was whirled along, the strong man groaned in spirit, when 
he thought of all his neglect had brought on this bright 
young creature ; and if he had loved Elenor before, how 
infinitely dearer she seemed to him now that he knew she 
was his own flesh and blood — Jack’s little daughter ! 

“Wait!” he said again to the driver, (who by this 
time had begun to wonder if the man was not an escaped 
lunatic) when they drew up in front of the lawyer’s office, 
who was soon listening with professional interest to Col. 
Stacey’s story. “ Bring her to justice, to punishment,” 
he said as he rose to go, “'you shall be well paid then 
he hurried back to the depot to catch the first return 
train to Baltimore. “ Perhaps I can learn her exact 
whereabouts from Howard,” he thought, and every mo- 
ment seemed an age until he could see the dear girl, and 
remove the dark shadow, he had been instrumental in 
causing to rest on her young life. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


WHEir Col. Stacey again reached Mrs. Hamilton’s he 
looked as though ten years had been added to his life. 
“ Fred ! what on earth is the matter with you ?” exclaimed 
his sister, as soon as he entered, “ are you ill — or is any- 
body dead ?” 

“ Yes, I am ill, and wretched he said, sinking ex- 
hausted on a sofa, 

“ Gracious, Fred ! have you killed anybody — or broken 
the decalogue in some other way ? — tell me, I entreat you !” 
continued Mrs. Hamilton, half in jest — though she was 
really concerned to see her calm and dignified brother so 
entirely unlike himself — but not a suspicion of any real 
trouble crossed her mind. — “ And where is the child ?” 
she added, as the thought flashed on her, that he was to 
have brought her with him. 

“Ah, where?” he echoed. “Ellen, do you know in 
what part of Europe your cousin is now ?” 

“I think still in Rome — though I am not sure — per- 
haps Howard can tell — but why, Fred ?” 

“ Do you know that the girl who calls herself Elenor 
Fane, is your own niece — Jack’s daughter ? — the little child 
I put in a convent-school so long ago, and left to the tender 
mercies of a fiend !” 

“ Fred ! you certainly are mad — what do you mean ?” 
asked his sister perfectly aghast. 

“ I mean just what I say ; and I feel as if I should go 
mad, if I cannot see her soon, and repair in part, the wrong 
I have done — but, God forgive me ! the greatest is beyond 
repairing, now, do you wonder that I am wretched ?” 

( 166 ) 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


167 


“ But, Fred, it seems incredible, that the girl should 
have been in Walter’s family so long, and none of you dis- 
cover her identity — are you sure there is no mistake ?” 

“ I am sure : — and it does look incredible — as you say — 
but you see the change, or suppression of her full name, 
averted all suspicion ; beside, I had always thought of the 
child as — Nellie , and had really forgotten that her middle 
name was, Fane. And, would you believe it ? the miserable 
woman actually removed her to another convent, in Lin- 
vale, (fifty miles away from where I first placed her) which 
she took charge of six or seven years ago — yet her letters 
to me were sent from Farnham, and she wrote as if my 
niece were still at the convent of the Sacred Heart. And 
would say in all her letters that Nellie was doing well, 
but anxious to pursue a more extended course of study and 
especially, perfect herself in music — and I, rather rejoicing 
in her ambition, made myself easy— thinking, ‘ a year or 
so longer of study will do her no harm — she is full young 
to leave school and so feeling sure Nellie was where I 
had placed her, how could I dream for a moment, that she 
could be in two places, at the same time ?” 

“That is true; but why did she suppress her name, 
Fred ? It is her fault at last, it seems, that you did not 
discover her identity said Mrs. Hamilton. 

“ Yes, but I do not blame her under the circumstances, 
nor will you. That woman, besides being unkind to her, 
had inspired her with a great dread of her guardian, (not tell- 
ing her that he was also her uncle) whom she taught her to 
look upon as her greatest enemy — and Elen or having reason 
to believe her guardian resided at the South, took this meth- 
od to prevent discovery by him, and being forced to return 
to the convent, which she deprecated above all things. — I 
feel sure this was her reason, gathered from what I have 
heard her say in regard to the matter — though, of course, 
she did not mention the fact, of the suppressed name.” 


168 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VING. 


“Poor child! but why did she leave her situation as 
governess, Fred — was ill-health really the cause ?” 

“Now comes in the crowning act of falsehood and 
villanv, perpetrated by that monster of cruelty. — No ; ill- 
health was not the cause. Elenor was engaged to be mar- 
ried to Hugh, and they were devotedly attached to each 
other, but before she gave herself to any man in marriage, 
she wanted to know all about her parentage, and who her 
guardian was, that she might communicate with him, (for 
that wretch had persistently concealed, all knowledge of 
both from her, saying it was her guardian’s wish, for the pres- 
ent) and inform him of the important steps she contem- 
plated — this information gained, she would then, I imagine, 
have told Hugh her full name. She wrote to Sister Florine 
to get this information, and write to her at once, telling 
her also of her intended marriage. The Sister did this, or 
tried to, but the woman still refused to give her guardian’s 
name, but said as to her birth — Elenor was the child of her 
guardian’s brother by a quadroon slave — in other words, 
the offspring of shame, with negro blood in her veins !” 

“ 0 Fred ! how infamous ! how very wicked ! she 
ought to be prosecuted to the bitter end — the wretched 
creature ! What did you do with her, Fred ?” 

“ Nothing yet, the law will have to take its course. I 
have attended to that. Well, the shock consequent on 
the terrible revelation, nearly killed Elenor. She gave up 
her position as governess, wrote and released Hugh from 
his engagement, and returned to make further effort to 
discover the truth or falsehood of the statement ; I con- 
clude with no success, as your cousin took her away to 
Europe, and she refused, to the last, (in a letter he" re- 
ceived from her since she has been abroad) to marry Hugh 
until the mystery is made clear — dear, noble girl !” 

“ But did Hugh, did the rest of you believe it was true ?” 

“ No, of course not ; at least Hugh and I did not, but 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VIHG. 


169 


I think Lily and Walter feared it was, and the girl be- 
lieved it herself. Hugh followed her, vou remember he 
came here soon after she had left Aspendale, and learned 
she had sailed for Europe ; that was his object, to urge her 
to marry him, which he has done, as I said, by letter, only 
to find her firm in her refusal so long as a doubt remained. 
And now, he is lost to her forever ! 0 Ellen ! I shall 

never forgive myself— and to think we were such idiots as 
not to suspect she was our niece, when too, we all remarked 
the wonderful likeness to our mother — how blind we were ! 
But it does seem now, when it all looks so plain, that ‘ our 
eyes were holden, that we should not see.’ I felt strangely 
drawn to her from the first, and loved her as I believed, 
with a different love, which she did not return — thank 
God ! that she did not — and she was the one woman , I told 
you, I had thought could fill my lost darling’s place. You 
have never seen her, Ellen ?” 

“ Ho ; but Eveline cannot say enough in her praise ; 
and Stacey thinks her lovely in mind and person.” 

“ I do not wonder at it, for she is one of the loveliest 
of God’s creatures, and as good as she is lovely,” returned 
Col. Stacey. 

“ But, Fred, it is strange Hugh should have forgotten 
her so soon, and married another.” 

“ He did not forget her — so much the worse — and he 
never will forget her now, I fear. — But, Lily, gave him no 
rest — she and Walter too, urged him to marry Ada, think- 
ing he would be happier ; and he believed Elenor was lost 
to him anyway — poor fellow ! I fear his remorse will be 
terrible, when he learns the truth, which I must write to 
them at once. Walter must know, but it is hard to tell 
them, and disturb Hugh and Ada in their new-found hap- 
piness. The consequences of that woman’s falsehood will 
never end — it is terrible ! Ellen, I shall sail by the first 
steamer for Europe. I will leave for New York in the 


170 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


morning, and must write several letters to-night. Where 
are your young folks, and when will Howard be in ?” 

“ I am looking for Howard every moment. — I don't 
know what can be detaining him. Stacey and Maud went 
out driving, but it is time they had returned. Will you 
go up to your room, Fred, or shall I bring writing material 
here ? But you need refreshing, you have not brushed 
the dust off you, and you look so worn out; let me send 
you a glass of wine ?” 

“ Thank you, I believe it will do me good — and I will 
go to my room — I must be alone. I can get funds from 
Howard, I suppose, Ellen, and give him an order on my 
banker in Augusta. I must go to the dear child at once ; 
and I hope the good news I shall carry her, will compensate 
in some measure for the sad tidings, that death alone can 
remove the barrier that now separates her from Hugh. I 
shall not come down again, Ellen, until the tea-bell rings 
— Howard will be in by that time.” 

“ 0 yes : — I will send James with the wine, and water 
for your bath, make him do anything else you, wish — but, 
Fred, did you bring clothing enough for a European tour ?” 

“My valise is pretty well packed, and I can easily sup- 
ply myself with anything that is lacking — that is a matter 
of little difficulty, with a well-filled purse, which is the first 
consideration, in such an undertaking.” 

“ Do lie down and rest yourself a little, Fred, before you 
begin writing. I fear you will not be equal to your jour- 
ney, if you do not look better to-morrow ; I know I shall 
feel anxious about you.” 

“ Oh, I shall be all right when this trouble is over — but 
I cannot rest much, I fear, until I clasp the dear child to 
my heart, and hear her say, that I am forgiven — and see 
the shadow lifted from her sweet face, when she learns, 
that she can hold up her head with the proudest in the 
land ;” returned Col. Stacey, as he rose to leave the room. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


Hugh and Ada did not leave for the North for a week 
or more after their marriage, as their parting with their 
dear ones of home was to be a long one — for on their re- 
turn from their bridal tour to Niagara and the Lakes, they 
intended to set up housekeeping in Baltimore. Mrs. 
Stacey had written to her sister-in-law to be on the look- 
out for a pretty suburban villa for them, as Hugh in- 
tended to purchase ; and begged that Mr. Hamilton would 
aid them in making a selection, also that she would make 
some effort to introduce Ada to her “ dear, five hundred 
friends.” 

And Hugh might have been more hopeful, and happier 
in contemplating, and laying plans, for their future, but 
before they got off, Col. Stacey’s letter came, telling his 
brother that Elenor Fane was their niece — Jack’s daugh- 
ter ; also of his intention to sail at once for Europe, to find 
her, and remove the terrible doubt regarding her birth, 
from her mind. 

“ When I will return,” the letter went on to say, “ I do 
not know. Of course, I shall bring Elenor back with me, 
to the home that will henceforth be hers. I leave every 
thing in your care, and Williams’, feeling assured you both 
will do everything for the best. I will write as soon as I 
find the dear child, for until I do, my quest will not end.” 
And then followed some business details, as to funds, etc., 
in which my readers would not be interested. 

“ 0 Hugh !” exclaimed Ada, as soon as he told her, on 
his return from Aspendale, where he happened to be when 
Major Stacey received the letter, “ if you had only waited, 
( 171 ) 


172 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


as I wished you to do ! Now you will be sorry all your 
life.” And she leaned her head on his shoulder to con- 
ceal her tears, the first she had shed since her short, happy 
wifehood ; but ah, poor Ada, not the last ! 

“ Do not say that, my dear, and do not think it ; have 
I not not vowed to be a true and faithful husband to you, 
and can you not trust me, Ada ? he asked, putting his arm 
tenderly around her. 

“ Yes, I do — I will, trust you, dear Hugh, for you are 
good, and noble above all other men,” she answered, 
smiling through her tears. “And I am truly glad that 
Elenor can rejoice in the proud consciousness, that she has 
the best blood in the country in her veins — on one side, at 
least. She will be happy now, and any man may be proud 
to win her. 

Can you blame Hugh, that the thought of any other 
man winning her, his peerless Elenor stabbed him like a 
knife ? But he gave no sign, and kept a brave and smil- 
ing face towards his wife, who was surprised and glad, that 
he could speak so calmly of the girl whom now , had he been 
free — he could have married without shame. He stood 
silent a few moments — clasping his wife — but he could bear 
it no longer, and said hastily — 

“ My dear, we must really be off, I have been an idler 
too long, and now that I have a wife depending on me, 
must go to work in earnest — when can you be ready to 
leave ?” 

“ Any time you wish, Hugh ; the parting with my dear 
ones must come, and deferring it, will not make it less 
painful. ‘ Where thou goest, I will go ; where thou diest, 
I will die ; and there will I be buried’;” quoted Ada, put- 
ting her arm around her husband’s neck, and looking into 
his beautiful blue eyes (poor Elenor had loved them so !) 
that did not quail beneath her searching glance, though 
his heart was almost bursting with its tumult of emotion — 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 173 

for which he hated himself, and would have died rather 
than had his gentle, trusting wife to know. 

“ Well, let us fix on the day after to-morrow,” he said, 
releasing her. “ I am going to your father’s office on a 
little matter of business, and will tell him. You can 
amuse yourself with packing your trousseau until dinner, 
and then we can drive over and let Lily know.” 

But Hugh did not go at once to Dr. Singleton’s office— 
which was in one corner of the grounds, and fronted on 
the highway or street. Turning into a secluded bower 
that he passed on his way, he seated himself, and leaning 
his head on the rustic bench, strove with a mighty effort 
to still the storm that raged in his heart, and banish the 
torturing fiend of regret. “ 0 Lily !” he mourned, “ what 
have you done ! You, and my own weak yielding, and lack 
of strength to endure, have caused me to sin against my 
own heart — against the woman I have lost forever, and her, 
whom I have vowed to love ‘ until death do us part ’ — but 
she, poor child, must never know — and yet — 0 God ! how 
can I endure this lingering torture !” 

“ Beating it in upon his weary brain, 

As tho’ it were the burden of a song, 

Not to tell her, never to let her know,” 

He prayed for strength to put away all thought of the 
woman who might have been his wife, but whom now it 
was a sin. to love ! 

* * * * * * * 
Hugh and Ada remained long enough in Baltimore to 
select their home ; and Mrs. Hamilton gave them an ele- 
gant reception, at which the elite of the city were present. 
Hugh had no cause to feel ashamed of his bride, even 
in that aristocratic assembly. She wore her bridal-dress of 
rich white silk, with an over-dress of tulle — and a full set 
of pearls— necklace, ear-rings, etc., (Hugh’s wedding gift), 


174 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


and they did not look purer than the pale, delicate woman 
they adorned ; for while Ada could not strictly be called 
beautiful, she was so fair and refined looking, that she 
called forth the admiration of many of Mrs. Hamilton’s 
most fastidious guests. Hugh, to the casual observer was 
calmly and quietly happy, and made quite as pleasant 
an impression as his wife. And yet, even amid that gay 
throng, his thoughts would occasionally stray beyond his 
control, and he found himself thinking how Elenor would 
queen it, in society so congenial to her taste, and how 
every woman (even far-famed Baltimore beauty) would 
pale, by contrast with her regal loveliness. But he hastily 
banished such foes to his peace, and laid himself out to 
play the agreeable to some of the older members of the 
Baltimore bar, and so successfully that Mr. Randal (an old 
bachelor, and head of the bar) said to Mr. Hamilton dur- 
ing the evening : 

“ Did I understand you to say that Mr. Legare intends 
to make Baltimore his home for the future ?” 

“ Yes : he will remain here on his return from their 
northern tour. He has bought that pretty new villa on 

Street, built by Archer & Co. I hope you will do 

what you can for him Randal, as a brother lawyer — as he 
is a stranger here,” replied Mr. Hamilton. 

I will ; for I am greatly impressed in his favor. You 
know my partner has just gone to ’Frisco, to make his for- 
tune faster than he could do here — and I believe I will pro- 
pose to your young relative to take his place, eh ?” 

“ I should be very glad, as that would introduce him at 
once into a practice — though he would be sure to succeed 
in time, for he was rapidly rising in his profession in Sa- 
vannah. He is not a relative of mine, however, only a con- 
nection — his sister married my wife’s brother — Major Wal- 
ter Stacey,” returned Mr. Hamilton. 

“ Ah— I think his wife very attractive said the head 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING . 175 

of the Baltimore bar, with the taste and appreciation that 
few of his legal brethren would have given him credit for, 
as he was looked upon by them as a sort of woman-hater, 
caring little for anything that did not aid, or further his 
ambitious ends, which did not stop short of the topmost 
round of the ladder of fame and fortune. “I always 
admired,” he continued, “ those pure, ethereal looking 
women ; they seem akin to the angels, and make a man 
feel pure, ‘ by being purely shone upon.’” 

“ Yes, she is a very sweet woman, too, and seems per- 
fectly devoted to her handsome husband ; but Randal, my 
wife has a niece, who is now in Europe, that they say — 1 
have never seen her — is the most beautiful woman of this 
age — Fred Stacey (you remember Fred ?) has just sailed 
in search of her — it is quite a romantic story — ” and Mr. 
Hamilton proceeded to give his friend, the outlines of El- 
enor’s life ; also the fraud practised by the Mother — but 
omitting any allusion to Hugh’s engagement to her. Mr. 
Randal listened with deep interest ; excited often to ex- 
clamations of — “infamous!” “terrible!” “why she’s a 
regular female Caligula ! — didn’t Stacey take justice in his 
own hand ?” etc. 

“ And I tell you what, Randal, when she bursts upon 
our aching sight, (Fred’s going to bring her here) even you 
old bachelors will have to place a double guard around the 
stronghold of your adamantine hearts — they say everybody 
succumbs to her charms, and lays down their arms at the 
first encounter,” continued Mr. Hamilton, who was one of 
the few men from whom Mr. Randal would bear, with im- 
punity — any jesting on such themes as love or marriage, 
when applied to him personally. 

“I don’t know, Howard; as for beauty, I’ve seen a 
great deal in my life — and tastes differ ; besides, as you 
know, all such things ceased to move me long ago — not 
that 1 cannot still admire a beautiful woman — I hope 


176 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


never to be so fossilized as that and even entertain for 
them a sincere friendship ; but love ! — 

‘ Once only, o’er my sunless course, 

Hath light from Heaven and Love been shed ; 

That ray was bliss — its warmth, delight, 

Too bright it blazed, then flickering — fled !’ ” 


CHAPTER XXY. 

We will leave the safely married pair and follow the 
impatient man steaming across the Atlantic — but not half 
fast enough for his eager, longing heart. A hundred 
times in imagination, had he clasped Elenor in his arms, 
exclaiming — My poor injured darling! my dear niece — 
Jack’s neglected orphan ! can you ever forgive your un- 
happy uncle ?” And although it was Col. Stacey’s first 
trip across the ocean, and he was usually a keen, observ- 
ant traveller — losing nothing of interest or improvement — 
yet now, he was so absorbed in remorseful thoughts of the 
dear, wronged, girl — for whose troubles he too severely 
blamed himself, that he was not the pleasant, genial com- 
panion, he would otherwise have been^ in the isolated weari- 
ness of a sea- voyage. 

When he reached Liverpool, his first efforts were di- 
rected to finding out when he could leave it, and he was 
very soon on his way towards Rome, where he arrived on a 
lovely day during the last week in May. Much to his cha- 
grin, Sister Florine and Eienor had left several weeks before 
for Naples. Thither he followed, as fast as the vetturino 
could be bribed by extra fare to take him ; and in a much 
shorter time than the journey is usually performed, he 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VINO. 


177 


reached the bright, gay Neapolitan city, which held the 
dear object of his search. 

The hotel that Sister Florine (or Miss Howard, as we 
will call her for the future) had chosen, was delightfully 
situated on the Ohiaja, separated only by the beautiful 
Royal Garden, from the glorious bay. To-day, it is rain- 
ing, and she and Elenor are kept in -doors, much to the 
latter’s disgust, who is sitting at the window of their pleas- 
ant parlor, watching the rain as it freshens and makes 
more vivid the green terraces and lovely garden — her 
thoughts reverting to the 1 past, as they did not often do 
now, with so much to interest and divert them. Miss 
Howard was busy writing letters, and was rather glad she 
was not tempted by a fine day, longer to postpone them. 

“ Sister !” said Elenor, rising hastily, “ there is a gen- 
tleman coming up the walk that looks strangely like Col. 
Stacey, but that is impossible !” He neared the portico 
and looking up, caught Elenor’s eye. “It is — it is he !” 
she cried, and rushed down the stairs to the open door, 
where Col. Stacey met her, and clasping her in his arms 
exclaimed — 

“ 0 Elenor ! my dead brother’s child — my darling, pre- 
cious niece — I have found you at last, thank God !” She 
tried to extricate herself from his encircling arms, for she 
thought the grave, dignified man she had known, must 
have suddenly gone mad — 

“ Col. Stacey, what do you mean ?” she gasped, still 
tightly clasped in the arms that would not let her go. 
“ Please release me.” 

“ My darling, it is true ! you are my own neglected lit- 
tle niece,” and he rained tears and kisses together, on the 
sweet, up-turned face. “ Take me where we can be alone, 
and I will explain everything to you.” And Elenor, still 
too much astonished and bewildered to return his tender 
greeting, led him into one of the more private parlors and 


178 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


closed the door. He seated himself beside her on a sofa, still 
keeping an arm about her, as though he feared she might 
in some way elude him even yet, and then he told her all / 

Now she was shedding tears of joy — the first, and sweet- 
est thought that rushed over her was — I can marry my 
darling, at last !” 

V But, my child,” her uncle continued, after a pause, 
for he hesitated to crush her new-found joy — “I have sad 
news to tell you also, and you must try to bear it nobly, as 
you have borne that which, had it been true, would have 
been infinitely more terrible !” 

“ 0, Col. Stacey ! is it Hugh ? is he dead ?” she man- 
aged to gasp. 

No, oh no, Hugh is well he hastened to say, as he 
saw the look of wild alarm in her eyes ; and his heart 
almost failed him, to tell her the bitter truth, when he saw 
how still above all others, he was first in her thoughts. 
“ But do not call me Col. Stacey — I am Uncle Fred, from 
this time forth, my dear niece — my own sweet daughter — 
whom it shall be my dearest object in the future to render 
happy, and thus atone in some measure for all I have made 
her suffer. No, dear, Hugh is not dead, save to you — he 
is married — to Ada Singleton.” 

Col. Stacey felt her start, and shiver — then throwing 
her arms for the first time, around his neck, she wept bit- 
ter tears — far more bitter, than any she had yet shed — for 
her lost — and what was worse — her faithless lover ! while 
she murmured — *'*' Forgotten so soon ! 0 God ! must I be 

miserable always !” 

“ My child ! do not grieve so ; you have found so much, 
cannot you give up Hugh ?” 

“ 0 uncle ! he was more than all the world to me — what 
is name or birth or anything, since he is lost more inexor- 
ably than before !” she cried, unable to control her emotion. 

“ He was not much to blame, dear Elenor. Lily and 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


179 


Walter gave him no rest — they urged the step, thinking, he 
would sooner recover from the disappointment of losing 
you, which I assure you was terrible. I never saw anyone 
suffer as he did, when he followed you to urge you to 
marry him in spite of all, and learned you had sailed for 
Europe. I really feared for his reason, for many weeks ; 
and even later, when he received your letter from Rome, 
he was almost crushed, for he felt then, that all was indeed 
over. I have grave fears for his happiness when he shall 
learn the truth— and you must be brave and help him to 
bear it — for if he sees you cheerful and contented, it will 
do much to reconcile him to his fate.” 

“ I hope, dear uncle, he may be happy ; and I will try 
to be — for your sake,” replied Elenor, as she lifted her tear- 
ful face from his shoulder, and tried to smile — “ but I must 
go and tell Sister Florine the good news — how I have found 
my mysterious guardian and uncle in one, and that the 
dark shadow is lifted in regard to my birth — how she will 
rejoice !” 

“ When I have made myself more presentable, I wish 
to see the good woman, who has been so kind to you, my 
dear,” said her uncle, 'as she rose to leave him. 

“ Oh yes ! how good, I can never tell you — and what she 
has been to me in this trouble — but for her, I could not 
have borne it. When you are ready, make the servant 
show you to our private parlor, and don’t be too long, 
dear uncle, I feel as if it were all a dream, and that you 
may vanish out of my sight at any moment ; I can hardly 
realize while I see you — that you are indeed my dead fa- 
ther’s brother— my own uncle Fred !” and Col. Stacey 
kissed her again, before he could let her go. 

“ Rejoice with me, dear sister,” said Elenor as she en- 
tered the room, where Miss Howard had quietly resumed 
her writing, when she found that young lady did not re- 


180 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


turn after her hasty exit ; “ I have found my guardian ! 
And he is also my uncle, and would you believe it — it is 
Col. Stacey !” 

“ Nellie ! what do you mean ?” asked her friend, thor- 
oughly puzzled. 

“Oh, it is true, dearest, true! and the lonely orphan 
you have befriended can hold up her head with the 
proudest in the land ! Yes, Col. Stacey, and his brother, 
in whose family I lived so long, unknown, are my father’s 
brothers, and I was born in holy wedlock, and am not the 
child of a slave, as that wicked woman said !” And Ele- 
nor kneeled by the low couch on which her friend sat, and 
leaning her head on that faithful bosom, shed tears of 
mingled joy and sorrow. 

“Oh, my child! I do indeed rejoice and thank God, 
and our sweet Mother, that light has come at last ! — did I 
not say it would be so ? Will you ever doubt God’s good- 
ness again ? But why do you weep ? This is no time for 
tears, my darling — dry your eyes, and tell me all about it 
said Mrs. Howard putting aside her writing — and drawing 
Elenor to a seat by her side, encircled her slender form 
with a loving pressure, as the sorrowing girl told her of all 
she had lost, as well as gained. 

“ My poor darling ! it does seem hard that xour cup of 
joy must have this bitter drop,” said the sympathizing wo- 
man, when Elenor had finished the sad part of her com- 
munication. “ But, my dear, it is ever thus in this world — 
nothing is perfect — earth were too like Heaven, if this were 
so. — No, there is always something to remind us that 
‘ there is nothing true but Heaven !’ And, my dear child, 
try not to grieve — you have gained so much — ” 

“ 0 sister ! in losing Hugh, I seem to have lost all — 
evervthing, worth living for r interrupted the poor girl, 
passionately. 

“ Say not so, dear Nellie — rebel not, my darling ; God 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VINO. 


181 


has permitted it — in His wisdom, it may be just the disci- 
pline you need — light will shine on this at last, as it shone 
on the other dark cloud, now illumined by His smile ! 
Cheer up, my drooping flower — lift your heacl and rejoice 
in the sunshine left you — and £ let the dead past bury its 
dead !’ ” 

But Elenor felt there were many things in that past 
that would never die — that she could never bury — and 
would not, if she could. — So she only said, 

“My uncle would like to see you, sister, as soon as he 
has rested, and refreshed himself — he is very weary, for he 
has not stopped longer than was absolutely necessary, since 
he left the steamer at Liverpool. 

Col. Stacey was not prepared to see the still young, and 
refined-looking woman, that rose to greet him, as he en- 
tered, a few hours later, the private parlor where the two 
awaited him with anxious hearts. 

“ Miss Howard,” he said, taking her hand in a cordial 
grasp, “ I am most happy to make the acquaintance of the 
kind friend and benefactress of my dear niece. How shall 
I ever thank you for all you have been to her — while I 
have — unintentionally, it is true, but none the less culpa- 
bly — neglected her, and suffered this terrible wrong to be- 
fall her !” 

“ Nay, Col. Stacey, do not blame yourself so severely — 
say rather, that He, who cannot err, has permitted it all 
for some wise purpose, that we know not perfectly as yet, 
though even now, we can see some good resulting from Nel- 
lie’s rather wild escapade — the way has been opened to the 
hearts of her relations, all hard thoughts of her guardian 
removed from her mind, and each has known and loved 
the other, even as strangers. And our sojourn abroad is 
another result attained — through great tribulation — but not 
profitless, I trust.” 


182 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“Yes,” replied Col. Stacey — “that is all true; and 1 
hope my darling’s trials are over, and when she is weary 
of travel, she shall return to the home of her father, and 
to the anxious hearts that are waiting to receive her with 
more than the love of kindred — longing to atone for all the 
suffering she has endured ! Oh, my child ! dearly have you 
paid for your incognito !” said Col. Stacey. 

“ Yes, dear uncle, that is true — yet I only regret one 
thing — but no, not even that , for — 


‘ ’Tis better to have loved and lost, 
Than never to have loved at all/ ’* 


said Elenor. 

“ My dear, you cannot reconcile me to the part I have 
had in your suffering ; and I shall not be able to forgive 
myself, until I know that you are entirely happy again, 
and regret nothing in the past that my neglect has indi- 
rectly caused ;” said Col. Stacey, lifting the sweet face that 
had drooped, and smoothing fondly the pale, velvety cheek. 

“ I will not have you reproach yourself, uncle Fred — 
how could you know that miserable woman was writing 
you falsehoods all the time ? The most difficult thing for 
me, will be to forgive her,” said Elenor. 

“ You must do even that, my child, or how can you 
pray to be forgiven your trespasses ?” said Miss Howard. 

“I don’t know, sister — but I certainly cannot from my 
heart forgive that woman yet — but do look, uncle ! the sun 
is coming out to welcome you, and is not the bay lovely ? 
Oh, shall we not enjoy having uncle to take care of us, 
sister ?” exclaimed Elenor, brightening. 

“ I fear Col. Stacey will find his position no sinecure, 
my dear,” replied Miss Howard, with a smile, that made 
that gentleman decide that hers was the purest, as well as 
the most pleasant face he had seen for many a day. 


CHAPTEK XXVI. 


When Hugh and Ada stood together beside that sub- 
lime creation of nature — Niagara Falls, in the minds of 
both, came thoughts of the exiled girl — intruding even 
amid the emotions that grand spectacle inspired, as in 
rapt silence, that was almost pain, they contemplated this 
mighty handiwork of God. Hugh, thinking involuntarily, 
how he had once hoped to watch Elenor’s lovely, change- 
ful face as she gazed for the first time on its awe — inspir- 
ing grandeur ; and over Ada came the consciousness that 
he was at that moment thinking of a different tour, when 
Elenor was to have been his companion, and how, if she 
had not come between them, all might have been well — 
but she checked such unwelcome thoughts, and turning to 
her husband, said — 

“ 0 Hugh ! language fails me to express what I feel — 
cannot you say something befitting the occasion ?” 

“ As some one says — there are feelings that lie too deep 
for tears — so there are emotions too strong for words ; and 
I think, my dear, we are both experiencing them now, and 
may comfort ourselves wdth the reflection, that it is not a 
lack of appreciation that keeps us silent, but only a too 
keen and unspeakable depth of emotion returned Hugh, 
but he did not say (can you blame him ?) that a good deal 
of the “ unspeakable emotion” that stirred the very depths 
of his heart, was regret for the dear, dark eyes, that at this 
very moment no doubt, were drenched in tears, for the loss 
of the blue ones, that were looking so regretfully on this 
far-famed 


184 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ Niagara ! wonder of this western world,” 

this — * beauteous queen 

Of cataracts l’ ” 

After a long silence in which both were busy hanging on 
memory’s wall the picture — “ bearing in every faintest out- 
line, in every lightest shade, the unmistakable Deus fecit 
of the great Master ” — Hugh roused himself by an effort, 
and remarked — 

“It is strange that these falls have never inspired a 
really grand poem in their praise — never, I think, have they 
been sung in verse, worthy of them.” 

“ Ho,” replied x\da, “ if so, I have never seen them — 
though Maria Brooks has written a short poem, 4 To Ni- 
agara,’ also Mrs. Sigourney — hers I think quite good, but 
whether entirely worthy of the theme, I will not presume 
to judge — it begins, 

‘ Flow on forever, in thy glorious robe 
Of terror and of beauty. Yea, flow on/ etc. 

But you remember the lines, no doubt — that is, if you are 
one of the few men, that ever read anything from the pen 
of a woman said Ada, smiling demurely. 

“Yes, I have read it — it is rather pretty — that is all ; 
many pretty things have doubtless been said — many ryth- 
mical lines penned — but no grand poem, that shall resound, 
as do the thunders of its deep, solemn roar, forever — a sub- 
lime refrain, to the music of its eternal Jubilate Deo /” 

To say that Hugh and Ada’s wedding tour was entirely 
without pleasure, would not be true — they were young, and 
the young are never wholly miserable ; and there was so 
much to interest and divert their minds, that there was 
little time, or opportunity for dwelling on forbidden topics, 
or indulging dangerous retrospect. 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


185 


When they returned to Baltimore, their pleasant home 
awaited them ; thanks to the kindness of Mrs. Hamilton, 
everything had been arranged, carpets, matting, etc., put 
down, curtains up, (for Hugh had sent everything from 
Hew York) even pictures hung — save a few home pets, and 
family portraits, that Ada had not unpacked— so that she 
had only to make those additions, and such little changes as 
her own taste might suggest. 

“ My dear Mrs. Hamilton,” exclaimed Ada, in pleased 
surprise the next morning as they took possession, “ how 
kind ! you have really left us nothing to do ; I shall hardly 
know what to do with myself.” 

“ Never fear, my dear, a housekeeper never need be 
idle — you will be busy enough getting up dainty dishes 
for your lord, for if he is like most men, the way to his 
heart, is through his stomach,” returned Mrs. Hamilton, 
laughing. 

“ I think Hugh is an exception, then, for he is nothing 
of an epicure ” said Ada, turning to her husband with a 
smile. 

“ Wait, my dear, before you decide that point,” said 
Hugh, “ I may be more exacting, now I have a wife to ca- 
ter to my taste.” 

“1 only hope you will be, as that would be an incen- 
tive to exert myself in the culinary art — for which I have 
little talent or inclination,” replied Ada. 

“ My dear, do try your new piano,” said Hugh, as they 
seated themselves in their pretty, cosy parlor, when they 
had finished their tour of inspection. 

“ Oh yes ! is it not a beauty, Mrs. Hamilton ? It was 
dear papa’s gift on my wedding day — or rather the money to 
be thus appropriated — how I wish he were here to see and 
hear it,” and Ada seated herself ..at the instrument and 
prepared to comply with her husband’s request. 

Notwithstanding so much had been done, Ada did not 


186 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


find time hang heavy on her hands — she was soon busy 
enough receiving and returning calls, and her cordial re- 
ception into the most exclusive circles of the city, was quite 
flattering. 

Mr. Randal offered Hugh a partnership in his business, 
which he gladly accepted ; and the cultivated but lonely 
man, soon found his greatest pleasure in the pleasant even- 
ings spent with Hugh and Ada, to whom he was ever a wel- 
come visitor. 

“ As soon as Mrs. Stacey learned that her brother and 
his wife were fairly settled in their new house, she came on 
a visit to them and Mrs. Hamilton, bringing May with her — 
which was a pleasant surprise she had planned, to give 
Ada pleasure. May was charmed ; and she and Stacey 
Hamilton were soon renewing the acquaintance begun at 
the Springs ; and as May was now “ sweet sixteen,” she 
was allowed greater liberty, and being exceedingly pretty 
and sprightly, soon created quite a sensation among the 
youth of Stacey’s age and circle. 

“ Miss May,” he said to her one day, “ I am going to 
refuse to bring any more of those popinjays to see you ; 
they besiege me all the time to come with, and introduce 
them, and then I have to ‘ play second fiddle/ which I don’t 
fancy at all.” 

t; Well, I should not care, Stacey, for I really prefer your 
society to any of them I have seen yet ; so you need not 
feel jealous, neither need you feel very much flattered,” 
replied May with a saucy toss of her pretty head. 

4 4 May, I believe you are an arrant little flirt ; you make 
yourself very agreeable to them, at any rate.” 

“ Would you have me sit like a stupid country rustic, 
and be laughed at by your city swells ? If being agreeable 
and entertaining to my visitors, 4 be treason’ in your eyes 
— ‘make the most of it/” returned May laughing. “By 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 187 

the way, Stacey, I think I shall set my cap for Mr. Randal — 
I have quite a fancy for being an old man’s darling.” 

“ I think he is decidedly taken now, May, if I am a 
judge ; and you know he is rich — which no doubt will con- 
sole you for his gray hairs, and disparity in age,” replied 
Stacey. 

“ Certainly it will ; I have a decided 'penchant for hand- 
some surroundings — and perhaps he would take me to 
Europe ; I believe I would marry my grandfather, if he 
would promise to do that,” says May gayly. 

“ I know you are not in .earnest, May ; I have too high 
an opinion of you, to believe for a moment, that you would 
marry an old man for his money.” 

“ You need not be too sure, Stacey — what has been done 
by many of my sex. may be done again ; besides, I really 
and truly admire Mr. Randal, he is a much more sensible 
and entertaining companion, than any of the boys I have 
met,” returned May teasingly. 

“ Not more so than many of those boys may be at his 
ripe age, perhaps,” retorted Stacey, “ but it is time for 
our drive May — get ready, and I will return in half an 
hour with my buggy.” 

Mrs. Stacey’s remorse, when she learned that Elenor 
Fane was her husband’s niece, can be imagined — though 
even then, the girl was not so dear to her as Ada. But Hugh 
—her darling — whose happiness was paramount to every 
other consideration — she feared might so regret, the step 
he had taken, as to render him miserable. And while she 
felt safe from any out-spoken reproach, for the influence she 
had exerted in bringing it about, vet she could not bear to 
think that in his heart Hugh would blame her, and she 
might take a lower, and less dear place in his regard than 
she had before held. But her fears were somewhat al- 
layed, when she saw him apparently happy in his home, 


188 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


and she tried not to think of Elenor’s suffering when she 
learned that death alone could remove the barrier that now 
severed her and Hugh. 

But if Mrs. Stacey thought her brother, or Ada entirely 
happy, it was because she could not look into their hearts, 
or penetrate the calm, conventional manner that prevented 
a betrayal of the regret and remorse that was tugging at 
the heartstrings of both, while the smiling countenance 
gave no sign of the unrest within their bosoms. For even 
her keen, anxious eyes could discover nothing in these early 
days of their marriage, on w-hich to hang a fear for their 
1 ultimate happiness. 

While she and Mrs. Hamilton had much to talk about 
the new-found niece of the family, little was said of her in 
the presence of Hugh or Ada, and neither of them volun- 
tarily mentioned her name. 

And so Mrs. Stacey’s visit was at least a source of com- 
fort to her, as well as of real enjoyment ; for her brother 
and his gentle wife made every effort to render her stay 
with them agreeable, and almost forgot for the time their 
own secret troubles, in their earnest desire to please and 
entertain her — while Mrs, Hamilton was not behind them, 
in doing all she could devise for Lily’s pleasure. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

After Col. Stacey’s arrival Elenor (as we will still call 
her) was anxious to be again “on the wing” — said she 
could not realize the pleasure and comfort of having her 
uncle to look after them, until they were again in motion. 

“ And we had about exhausted Naples before you came, 
uncle Fred,” she urged. 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


189 


“Well, my dear, cannot you wait now until I exhaust 
it ? We must see Herculaneum and Pompeii, Vesuvius, and 
many other places of interest that you have not yet visited ; 
and I am glad that you have not, as I can be of real service 
to you on those excursions. So Naples must still be our 
headquarters for some time. I do not wish you to return 
home until you have seen all the great sights of this won- 
derful old world — am I not right, Miss Howard ?” 

“ Perfectly ; and I am more than glad that Nellie can 
have the benefit, not only of your protection, but of your 
wisdom and experience to select and point out the most im- 
portant objects, and points of greatest interest — for we can- 
not see everything, if our purses and our time, were alike 
exhaustless. ” 

“ No, that is true, and since our little girl is impatient 
to be off, suppose we make a beginning to-morrow. I shall 
keep you going now, Miss Nellie, until you cry, ‘hold, 
enough !’ and whenever your enthusiasm flags, I shall un- 
mercifully give the command to c march ! 9 ” 

“ 0 uncle ! I am no Wandering Jew to march even at 
your bidding,” laughed Elenor. But it was very sweet to 
her, the thought that she had some one now, her very own 
flesh and blood, whose care and protection she could claim 
as her right, and to whom she was first and dearest. All 
her lonely orphanage was forgotten — even Hugh’s marriage 
she could bear to think of, when she realized all she had 
gained — not that she had ceased to care for the loss of her 
lover, or felt that she could ever wholly forget the past ; for 
she knew that she would never again attain such happiness 
as that sweet past had held for her. 

But Elenor had little time to indulge sad thoughts — 
her uncle was so untiring in his devotion to her lightest 
wish, and so earnest in his efforts to render her happy, that 
she felt it would be but a poor return for his tenderness, to 
droop and sigh over the inevitable, and in her very lauda- 


190 THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 

ble endeavor to seem cheerful, she daily grew more truly 
so, as well as happier. 

It is needless to follow them in all their pleasant wan- 
derings — amid the ruins of ancient cities — their delightful 
Cumean excursion — their sojourn in enchanting Florence, 
and marvellous Venice — where Elenor never tired of the 
gondolas, and the moonlight, and the exquisite music. 
Here in delicious, dreamy mood she would recline on the 
luxurious cushions of a gondola (leaving her uncle and 
Miss Howard to entertain each other) — as it glided down 
the grand canal, and listen to the silvery ripple of the waves 
against the prow, and the music of the vesper bells — “ for 
nowhere is the sound of bells so sweet and deep and solemn 
as at Venice.” 

Perhaps one thing too that lent an additional charm to 
Venice, was the presence of a young English artist, whom 
Col. Stacey encountered at the Academy of Fine Arts, 
where he was engaged in copying Titian’s great master- 
pieces — The Presentation at the Temple, and The Assump- 
tion of the Virgin — and with whom he was so much pleased, 
that he invited him to call on Miss Howard and his niece 
at their hotel — of which invitation Mr. De Lancey gladly 
availed himself. 

Col. Stacey was also so much pleased with his skill as an 
artist, that he begged him to undertake a portrait of his 
niece. Mr. De Lancey hesitated — though at first sight of 
Elenor, he had longed to transfer her face to canvas — for 
said he — 

“ I am but a tyro in my art as yet, Col. Stacey, especially 
in painting the ‘ human face divine.” I can do a little in 
the way of copying the old masters — but to copy direct 
from the hand of the Great Original, is another" thing ; 
however, if you really desire it, and Miss Stacey is willing 
to be bored with the sittings, I will make the attempt.” 

“I do most earnestly desire it,” replied Col. Stacey, 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


191 


“ and shall feel that you are conferring a special favor, if 
you will undertake it.” 

And could De Lancey’s artist eye gaze day after day on 
the lovely face he was trying so faithfully to transfer in its 
perfectness to his canvas, and not find it traced more in- 
delibly on his heart ? 

And Elenor ? was there not danger to her, too, in these 
pleasant sittings to this handsome, talented artist ? Es- 
pecially as she fancied Mr. De Lancey resembled Hugh, and 
had ventured to say to her uncle one day, (it was her first 
voluntary allusion to Hugh) — 

“ Uncle Fred, does not Mr. De Lancey remind you of 
Mr. Legare ?” 

Ci It had not struck me before, Kellie, but since you 
mention it, I believe there is something about him like 
Hugh — his blonde hair and blue eyes, at least ; but he is 
more effeminate, or I should rather say, more artist-like than 
our sturdy Hugh ; and I am afraid he is growing fond of 
my little girl — eh, Nellie ? don’t flirt with him, child.” 

“ 0 uncle ! you are certainly mistaken ; he has never 
indicated such a thing by a word, during all my sittings,” 
laughed Elenor, but she did not say he had not indicated 
such a thing by a look; for if ever a man’s eyes spoke 
volumes of something more than admiration, Mr. De Lan- 
cey’s had ; and small wonder, he must have been more, or 
less, than human, to watch the velvet, silken-fringed lids 
droop over the glorious dark eyes — the lovely flush come 
and go on the smooth olive cheek— the rosy lips unclose in 
a bewitching smile, revealing the pearly teeth — and not 
(i learn the lesson of loving.” — And to make the danger 
more imminent, there were moonlight sails in a gondola, 
when De Lancey would take his guitar and sing to her soft, 
sweet Italian melodies, in their own musical tongue, until 
Elenor’s very soul was steeped in delicious enchantment, 
and she almost imagined it was her lost Hugh beside her — 


192 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


her very own still ! And when De Lancey would cease, and 
speak to her in tones eloquent of unuttered love — she 
would wake with a start from her dream, to the crushing 
reality, that Hugh was thousands of miles away, and the 
husband of Ada Singleton ! 

But the portrait was completed — save the finishing 
touches — and there was no longer any need for them to 
linger in — 

“ Beautiful Venice, the bride of the sea.” 

Col. Stacey and Miss Howard both expressed themselves 
delighted with Mr. De Lancey’s success, and Elenor said — 
You have flattered me terribly, Mr. De Lancey, I 
know I am not as beautiful as that portrait,” and he whis- 
pered softly in reply — 

“ A thousand times more lovely, Miss Stacey; and I 
never felt myself so poor an artist, as in my vain attempt 
to paint you as you are — the loveliest of God’s creatures.” 

“ Why, Mr. De Lancey ! you are certainly doing your 
best to make me vain — for I must have faith in the supe- 
rior taste and judgment of an artist, remember — so beware 
how you offer incense to my vanity,” says Elenor lightlv. 

“ By the way, Miss Stacey, will you take a last sail with 
me this evening ?” asked Mr. De Lancey. (i The night will 
be lovely, as the moon is at her full ;” and Elenor could 
not refuse, though hef woman’s intuition made her dread 
that *'* last sail,” with the artist. 

“ Mr. De Lancey,” said Col. Stacey, coming up at the 
moment, “as soon as you have put your last touches to the 
portrait, ship to me at Liverpool, care of my agent there, 
here is the address — ” taking a card from * his pocket — 
“ and if you will call at my hotel to-night, I will add the 
balance I owe you, to my warmest thanks, for the finely 
executed likeness of my niece.” 

“ Thank you, CoL Stacey, but I had much rather you 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VING. 


193 


would cancel the debt, by giving me permission to win the 
fair original of the portrait — may I try ?” said Mr. De 
Lancev, blushing like a girl. 

This little aside, had not been heard by Elenor, she 
having joined Miss Howard, who was at the other end 
of the long studio, examining some unfinished sketches. 
“ Certainly, my dear sir, you have my hearty consent to 
win her, if you can — but the portrait is mine, and I shall 
pay for that, and give you my niece into the bargain, if it 
be her wish,” replied Col. Stacey. 

“ If you will, I must submit, and I confess, I am too 
poor as yet, to despise compensation for my labor— being 
a younger son, I have my own way to make in the world, 
but think I could support your niece in comfort, if she 
would honor me with her hand. My uncle — Sir Godwin 
De Lancev, has promised to compensate me handsomely 
for the copies I am now engaged on. He greatly admired 
those masterpieces of Titian, and begged me to undertake 
copies for his private gallery. I felt it almost presump- 
tion in me to make the effort — but his very liberal offer, 
was quite a spur to my hesitating compliance.” 

“ Certainly, I admire your energy and determination,” 
returned Col. Stacey, 4 ‘ and you are doing splendidly, if I 
am any judge, and bid fair to rival Titian. Your suc- 
cess as an artist is assured, my dear sir — you have great 
cause to feel encouraged.” 

“ Thank you very much, Col. Stacey — for I perceive 
you are a connoisseur in art, and your words of commenda- 
tion, give me great pleasure. I have an engagement to 
take your niece out for a row to-night, and will come early 
to your hotel, when we can arrange about the portrait — 
now, we will join the ladies. I promised to show Miss 
Howard a copy in miniature, that I attempted when in 
Florence, of the Flora of Titian — I would like you to give 
me your opinion of it also.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


Stacey Hall was closed ; and right desolate it looked 
to Winnie, even though clothed in all its summer beauty, 
when she wandered there, as she frequently did, in her 
afternoon strolls, and missed so terribly the kind word 
and genial smile of its absent master. 

Maumer Cinthy would occasionally open the windows, 
and give the house an airing ; and as she walked through 
the deserted rooms, to see that all was right, would mut- 
ter to herself — “ Well, well, Mass Fred gone cross the big 
water after Mass Jack’s chile — ’peared to me all de time 
Miss El’n’r look like ole mistis. I hope de good Lord will 
let um cum back safe to de ole place ; dis chile will be 
proud when she see Mass Jack’s darter walken round dese 
rooms whar her pa played when he wus a little picaninny 
— git out here ; you chillun think cause de white folks 
gone, you got ter cum in de big hus — git out, I tell you !” 

“ Mammy Cinthy please let us see de picturs.” 

“ Shan’t do it — git out dis minnit, I’m guine ter shet 
de door now — jes march, inter dat backyard quicker.” 
And the old woman locked .the door and put the key in 
her pocket, marching the crowd of little black imps in 
front of her, she closed and securely fastened the gate lead- 
ing into the grounds that were her pride and delight, 
as she knew they were the pride and delight of their mas- 
ter. But many along and weary month it seemed to the 
faithful old soul, before the master returned to the home, 
now so lonely and deserted. 

Major Stacey could endure his few weeks of solitude, 
because he knew it was only for a few weeks at most. But 
( 194 ) 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


195 


he went often to see, and comfort his old friend, Dr. Sin- 
gleton, and the almost daily bulletin from Lily, served to 
make the time seem shorter. But at Roselawn the change 
was felt most keenly ; the old doctor missed Ada sadly ; for 
since her mother’s "death the girl had been companion and 
friend, as well as daughter — and while May was very dear 
to her father, Ada was the very apple of his eye — in her 
he saw the living image of his lost wife, and now the de- 
light of his eyes was taken from him, and the fond father 
drooped, for the world had grown lonesomer. 

And to Bober t Brent, everything wore a gloomy aspect 
after Ada left, but now that she was married, he felt that 
he must, and would, cure himself of his hopeless passion, 
and very soon something occurred to aid him in his effort. 

Winnie Williams, who had been delicate and drooping 
all the spring, was taken really ill, soon after Mrs. Stacey 
and May left for Baltimore. Dr. Singleton came several 
times to see her, but Robert was her constant attendant. 
Winnie had been delicate from her birth, and her mother 
was seriously alarmed for the effect of a long illness on 
her fragile constitution, and begged. Robert to see her 
as often as he could, for she knew the old doctor was not 
equal to the exertion of frequent and continued visits. 

At first, Winnie was not very ill — the attack seemed to 
be a slow fever, of a typhoid character, and there was really 
little to do; but Dr. Brent hyou Id sit for a long time on 
his visits, trying to cheer <anif amuse her. He frequently 
brought her flowers, tastefully arranged by aunt Mary, 
and little delicacies from sam^ kind hand, to tempt 
her failing appetite. 

Winnie grew to look for his y daily visits with longing, 
for he would talk to her so cheerfully, and so amusingly, 
that often a silvery laugh would ripple from the pale, wan 
lips of the sick girl. And she was so patient and sweet 
— so grateful for attention and sympathy, and withal so 


196 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


womanly and sensible, that Robert found himself studying 
with interest the girl’s character, who before, he had only 
noticed, as he had other girls of her age, whom he knew 
by sight, in the neighborhood. 

But with all his and Dr. Singleton’s combined skill 
Winnie grew gradually worse. Aunt Mary went as often 
as she could to assist Mrs. Williams in nursing her — for 
she missed sadly her absent friends from Aspendale and 
Roselawn, especially Elenor, whom she often thought of 
and longed for ; and even took comfort in the assurance of 
the latter’s tender sympathy, if she had known of the ill- 
ness of her little favorite. 

And she found in her time of trouble, that even Miss 
Jemima was not devoid of some redeeming traits — for her 
narrow soul expanded, and she came and offered to do what 
she Could to relieve Mrs. Williams of the care of her sick 
darling. And although there was a little spiteful gossip 
thrown in now and then, as they watched around the 
sick-bed, Miss Jemima proved herself a skilful and devoted 
nurse. 

The days dragged their slow length along, and June 
roses drooped beneath July’s withering breath, and still 
Winnie lay prostrated by the slow, scorching fever that 
seemed consuming her young life. Mrs. Williams was her- 
self exhausted with long watching and anxiety — aunt Mary 
came and went like the good angel of mercy she was — and 
Robert was untiring, while his skill was taxed to the ut- 
most. He was very anxious and apprehensive as to the 
issue, for the young girl had taken a deep hold on his sym- 
pathy and interest. 

To-night he knew would be the crisis of the disease, and 
that from the unconscious stupor, which for days had held 
her in its lethargic grasp, she would wake to life again, or 
pass into the deeper oblivion of death. When he left her, 
late in the afternoon, he said to the poor, weary mother — 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


197 


“ I will return after tea and bring aunt Mary to watcli 
with me— you must rest— to-night will be the turning- 
point, and I must be with her.” 

“ 0, Dr. Brent ! do you think she will die ?” asked the 
almost despairing woman, for the hundredth time perhaps, 
during her child’s illness, “ I cannot give my darling up !” 

“ My dear madam, while there is life there is hope — 
but I will not deceive you — try to be prepared for the 
worst,” replied Robert. 

“ 0 doctor ! save her ! save my darling, and I will for- 
ever bless you !” 

“ I will do all in my power, rest assured — for your child 
has become very dear to me, Mrs. Williams — will you give 
her to me, if she lives ?” 

“ 0 Robert ! how can you think of such a thing now, 
and she so ill ? — but how can I give her up to Death ! — 
Yes, if you can snatch her from his icy grasp, she is yours, 
if you can win her — only save her — I ask no more !” 

44 Thank you, dear madam ! I will fight the grim bride- 
groom inch by inch, and pluck her from his arms to the 
warm, loving clasp of mine — by God’s help !” said Robert 
solemnly, then hurried out to his buggy, and drove Selim 
at such a pace, that he must have thought his master had 
gone mad, or was pursued by the furies ; but he did not 
slacken his speed, for one thing he did know with certainty 
— that his oats awaited him in his snug stable, as & com- 
pensation for his hard drive. 

“ Dear Mrs. Williams, do go and rest,” urged aunt 
Mary, as the weary night was creeping by, and still the 
devoted mother could not bear to leave her child. ts If you 
cannot sleep, you can pray, that is all you can do, if you 
remain, and you look utterly worn out — do go — we will call 
you if there is the least change— try to sleep, and leave your 
darling in the hands of God— He will do what is best.” 


198 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ 0, Aunt Mary! will my precious child never speak to 
me again ? Shall I never more hear the sound of her sweet 
voice, that is music to my ear ? how can I give her up ! 
pray for me. dear friend, you are so good — God will hearken 
to your prayers !” pleaded the stricken mother. 

4 4 1 will — I have, during her whole illness, prayed un- 
ceasingly, that God would spare your dear one, if it is His 
will — cannot you, too, leave her in His hands, and say from 
your heart — ‘ Thy will be done ?’ ” 

“ Yes, oh yes, I have tried — hut it would be very bitter 
to lose her in her sweet girlhood — no more to have her 
comforting love, her bright, cheering presence in our life, 
that would be so dark without her — surely God will be 
merciful, and spare my greatest treasure !” 

“ Leave us, dear wife,” said Mr. Williams, coming to 
her side, “ you will be ill yourself — I cannot lose wife and 
daughter too. As Miss Thornton truly says, you can do 
nothing more, but pray ;” and she suffered her husband 
to lead her to her own room, where she sank faint and 
exhausted on the bed. 

And while they watched, and waited, and prayed for 
the precious young life, through the long, weary hours of 
that night, Mrs. Stacey, May, and the children were 
nearing their home as fast as the “night express” could 
bring them. Major Stacey had at the last (he forebore to 
mentton it earlier, for fear of marring the pleasure of her 
visit) written his wife of Winnie’s extreme illness, and as 
her time had nearly expired, she hastened her departure, 
hoping to be of service to her friend, yet fearing she might 
be too late. 

But when the next day Major Stacey met them at the 
station, to her first eager question — “ How is Winnie ?” 
he was able to answer — “Better, she will live.” Yes, she 
will live ! Not yet had the irrevocable fiat gone forth in 
regard to Winnie — her mission on earth was not accom* 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


199 


plished — she has been spared still to brighten her humble 
home, still to comfort her fond parents, and it may be, in 
the future, to become a blessing and a recompense to the 
man, who has been the instrument in the hands of God, of 
her recovery. 

May came often to see Winnie, and the friendship — but 
partial before — became true and permanent, now that she 
had a better opportunity of appreciating the sick girl’s 
truly lovely and refined character — which had been little 
known, except to Elenor and Col. Stacey. Perhaps Robert 
unconsciously hastened the intimacy, for /he frequently 
took May with him on his visits to Winnie, even after her 
rapid convalescence made them no longer necessary — and 
she could not fail to notice the more than ordinary interest 
he took in his patient — which may also have increased hers. 
Mrs. Williams— to whom the expense was a weighty consid- 
eration — had several times hinted that she thought Winnie 
no longer needed his services, and Robert would answer 
that he must take care of his own . “ You forget your 
promise surely, dear Mrs. Williams — but I have not for- 
gotten, and I give you warning, that I shall try to gain her 
affections — but I must do it unknown to her — do not let 
her suspect our compact. Is she not lovely now, and have 
I not earned the right to win and wear her — if I can ?” 

••'You have, my dear boy, and also my best wishes for 
vour success,” replied Mrs. Williams heartily. And it did 
indeed seem as if Robert had earned the right to claim the 
girl, whom he had certainly been the instrument, under 
God, of saving — and her recovery was so rapid and perfect, 
that as the days went by, she bloomed into new beauty, 
and more vigorous health, until she bore little resemblance 
to the fragile, delicate Winnie of other days. It was 
strange — almost startling, the great change wrought by her 
illness, and Dr. Singleton shook his head, as he said to 
her — 


200 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ My dear, I fear this is not good flesh and healthy 
blood, you are getting so rapidly — let me pinch you and 
see,” and he playfully pinched Winnie’s fast rounding 
cheeks, and plump, dimpled arms, which were firm and 
solid under the cruel test, she laughingly tried to evade. 

The girls were now often together, and to Winnie it 
was especially pleasant to have the companionship of one 
so near her own age — a want she had felt very much since 
their removal to their present home. And it was not diffi- 
cult to love May Singleton, who — although she had not the 
depth and strength of character that Winnie possessed — 
was bright and affectionate, and very winning, when she 
cared to please. May had much to tell of her visit to Balti- 
more, and the name of Stacey Hamilton occurred so often, 
in connection with all she did and saw, that Winnie drew 
her own conclusions, and would tease May, until she de- 
clared she would tell her nothing more. 

“ 0 May,” said Winnie one day that she was spending 
at Roselawn, “ are you not glad dear Miss Elenor is coming 
back to us, and is Col. Stacey’s niece ? Now she will live 
with him at the Hall, and be near us always. I am so 
thankful I did not die before seeing her again, for I love 
her more than anyone in the world except my parents and 
brothers.” 

“ Yes, I am very glad about Miss Elenor, but Winnie I 
think you might keep a little of your affection for poor 
cousin Robert, for I believe he cares more for you than any 
one else, now that sister Ada is married,” replied May, 
rather rejoicing in this opportunity to pay Winnie back for 
her teasing. 

0 May ! you ought not to say that — Dr. Brent only 
likes me as a patient, whom he has almost raised from the 
dead, and still feels an interest in. If he thought his 
kindness and attention had awakened such a suspicion, he 
would be very much hurt ; and you know he loved your 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


201 


sister too deeply to forget her so easily — for a mere child, 
like me — please dear, don’t hint such a thing again,” said 
Winnie earnestly. For though the girl was conscious that 
a sight of Robert always quickened the pulsations of her 
innocent heart, yet she had never asked herself what this 
meant — or taken his tenderness and devotion for aught but 
the interest of a kind-hearted physician in his patient. 

Well, I will not, Winnie, if it distresses you, so I gen- 
erously forbear to retaliate,” laughed May, “ but do not 
expect me to be blind, as well as dumb. * As for cousin 
Robert's love for sister — he has always known that was 
hopeless, and now she is married, I think he only loves her 
‘ cousinly’ — no more. Come, dear, and play me that last 
piece you took from Miss Elenor — * Cloches de Monastere’ 
— I think it so pretty.” 

It always makes me sad to play that,” said Winnie, 
going towards the piano, “ or did, when I thought I should 
never see Miss Elenor again — but now I shall not feel so, 
I suppose. No doubt she has many times ere this, heard 
the real monastery bells, borne on the soft southern air — 
sweeter far than any poor imitation of them can ever be.” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Col. Stacey had some arrangements to make in re- 
gard to their departure that could not be deferred, and Miss 
Howard some packing, so it was decided that Mr. De Lan- 
cey and Elenor should not keep their gondolier waiting, 
but go at once, and later the others would join them. 

“ For we must have a last sail, too, Miss Howard,” said 
Col. Stacey, “ before bidding farewell to Venice. If we 
are not so young as Nellie and Mr. De Lancey, we have not 


202 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


ceased to care for moonlight and music (to say nothing of 
‘ love and flowers’) especially on the water in a gondola.” 

“ No, indeed, and I shall be glad of one more opportu- 
nity of fixing the enchanting vision in my memory,” replied 
Miss Howard. “ Here, Nellie, throw this light shawl on, it 
will be damp and chilly out on the lagunes — and don’t go 
too far before we join you ; take good care of her, Mr. De 
Lancey.” 

I hardly need that caution, dear Miss Howard — you 
may safely trust me for that,” returned the artist, as he led 
Elen or down to the gondola — which was the most luxu- 
rious he could find in Venice. 

Soon they were gliding away down the canal, past dark- 
ened and deserted old palaces — hastening to see the full 
moon rise over the lagunes. Slowly the queen of night, in 
her mature, perfected loveliness, rose from her watery couch, 
glowing with splendor, as she drew aside the curtain of 
darkness, and scattered her silver radiance over the waters, 
in beauty weird and unearthly ! Elenor bade the gondolier 
stop rowing, and in silence deep and thrilling, they gazed 
on the lovely scene — “ more wild and unreal, and marvel- 
lously beautiful than any dream ; while music from other 
gondolas floating around them, added the last perfection to 
the enchantments of the night !” 

“ 0 Mr. De Lancey, is it not heavenly !” exclaimed El- 
enor, when she could no longer keep silent, “ how apropos 
those charming lines of Miss Mulock — 

‘ Stars tremble o’er us, and moonlight before us, 

Mountains in shadow and forests asleep ; 

Down the dim river we float on forever — 

Speak not, ah ! breathe not— there’s peace on the deep. 

As the waves cover the depths we glide over, 

So let the past in forgetfulness sleep ; 

While down the river we float on forever — 

Speak not, ah ! breathe not — there’s peace on the deep.’ 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


203 


Ah ! I could indeed 4 float on forever !’” she said, as their 
gondola again glided lightly over the waters ; but to her 
own heart she added — 44 if the past, would only 4 in for- 
getfulness sleep.’ ” 

“ My dear Miss Stacey, I echo the feeling most heartily, 
if it could be 4 forever ’ by your side says De Lancey, for- 
getting Miss Howard’s admonition, 4 not to go too far’ — 
forgetful of all else, save the girl by his side, and that he 
loved her — and could not let her go without making an 
effort to win her ! They floated on, farther away from the 
4 4 silent city ” — and the two who would soon be searching 
for them. 

Elenor did not reply — she was absorbed in the beauty 
around her, and did not heed, in fact, scarcely heard Mr. 
De Lancey’s remark ; and he continued — 44 Miss Stacey, I 
have your uncle’s permission to ask your hand — will you 
not add to the happiness of this night, and crown its mem- 
ory, by the gift I covet ?” he said, as he, unloosed the 
slender, shapely hands she had clasped together, while she 
repeated with thrilling emphasis the beautiful lines — and 
held one in a close, strong pressure. 

44 Speak, dear Elenor ! say that you will be my wife — 
that thus, side by side, we may 4 float on forever !’ ” 

Elenor was roused at last — she could no longer be si- 
lent — 

44 0, Mr. De Lancey, I cannot ! it is too bad ! I am al- 
ways making somebody unhappy — I am the most unfor- 
tunate person in the world !” 

44 Why unfortunate ? You need not make me unhappy 
— I hope you will not — for you have it in your power to 
make me the happiest man alive, by one little word — will 
you not speak it ? such a little one — say it, dearest ?” 

44 Oh, I cannot say it — I have no love to give, and you 
would not have a wife without love — that is all over for 
me. I sincerely wish I could return your affection, Mr. De 


204 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


Lancey — I know you are noble and good, and I feel hon- 
ored by your preference — but I cannot. Please forgive 
me, I am very sorry — I wish I could have warned you not 
to lovp me,” she said naively — for Elenor was no coquette. 
Poor child ! love to her, was certainly “ ever a sorrow prov- 
ing.” 

She had not cared so much for Mr. Kennon’s disap- 
pointment — for she had less faith in the depth and sincer- 
ity of his love, but this man — she felt — she knew, that 
with his whole artist-soul, he loved her — why could she not 
return it ? Hugh was lost to her forever — it was a sin to 
love him now — yet why did she cling to that old, sweet 
love-dream ? Rupert De Lancey was a man that any 
woman might love, and feel ennobled in loving ; and he 
was very much like Hugh — all this she would admit — but 
oh ! he was not Hugh ! 

Mr. De Lancey was silent — what could he say ? It was 
such a disappointment — he had hoped so much to win her, 
and now it was all over — why should he urge his suit ? but 
at last he ventured to say — 

“ Miss Elenor, must I accept your answer as final ? If 
the love of which you speak is over — is it not dead ? 

“No, oh no, I fear it is not dead — not yet — she said 
hastily, “but there is uncle and Sister Florine, at last,” she 
added joyfully, as a gondola glided alongside, and Col. 
Stacey called out — 

“We have had hard work to find you, with so many of 
the funereal looking things floating around us, and I expect 
I have hailed and interrupted a dozen pair of lovers in 
their soft billings and cooings. Have you had moonlight 
enough to-night, Nellie ? If so, it is time our prows were 
turned homeward.” 

“ I should never get enough, uncle Fred, but I am ready 
to return when you wish,” replied Elenor, quite relieved to 
have her rather painful tete-a-tete with the artist ended. 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING 


205 


“ Mr. De Lancey,” said Col. Stacey as they rowed side 
by side, “I wonder these lagunes do not make this lovely 
city of the sea unhealthy.” 

“ And so they would I am told if it were not for the 
constant agitation of the tides of the Adriatic.” 

It is a wonderful provision of nature ;” replied Col. 
Stacey, “ we are led continually to exclaim — ‘ How wonder- 
ful are thy works, 0 Lord ! in wisdom hast thou made them 
all !’ Even as an undevout astronomer is mad, so must 
anyone be, who can view the wonders of this old world 
and say — ‘ there is no God. ? ” 

“Yes, indeed,” replied Miss Howard, “never have I 
bowed in such adoring wonder and worship, and echoed 
the words of another — * Oh, God must have brooded longer 
over this land, than over any other on the broad face°of 
the world !’ ” 

On the steps of their hotel, Mr. De Lancey took his 
leave of the girl, who had crossed his path thus" strangely 
for a few short weeks, to mock him with a loveliness and 
sweetness, that could never be his — but whose image was 
graven on his heart for all time, and the memory of whom 
would linger with him when all else was fading into noth- 
ingness ! 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Our travellers heard rarely from the dear ones at home ; 
for after their departure from Venice, they did not remain 
long in one place. And when Winnie was languishing 
through the hot July days, Elenor was wandering, (all 
unconscious of the illness of her favorite) contented and 
almost happy, through smiling picturesque valleys, and 
haunting cool, cosy mountain nooks, in the Tyrol. 


206 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


After a few weeks given to Paris, and a somewhat 
longer sojourn in England, they gladly turned their faces 
homeward, and early in October arrived safely in America 
— where anxious and longing hearts awaited their coming. 
They hastened to Baltimore as soon as possible, and at last, 
with loving pride, Col. Stacey presented his niece to her 
aunt — Mrs. Hamilton, who warmly welcomed her — as did 
the other members of the family. 

Sracey already knew and admired her, and “ cousin 
Elenor” soon won Maud’s heart, between whom and herself 
there was a striking resemblance, not at all strange, since 
their near relationship was known. Maud Hamilton was 
now fifteen, and quite well grown, and lady-like for her 
age. Miss Howard also was a welcome and honored guest 
in her cousin’s house, and intended to make it her home 
for the present, at the earnest solicitation of both Mr. 
Hamilton and his wife. 

The only damper to Elenor’s pleasure was the thought 
that she must meet Hugh and Ada, and how she should 
bear this trying ordeal with calmness, she did not know ; 
and would fain have avoided it altogether, had it been 
possible. 

Mrs. Hamilton was relieved, at first sight of Elenor, 
from all fear lest the offspring of poor Jack’s mesalliance 
should prove a source of mortification to her aristocratic 
name and position ; and was also a little piqued at the 
quiet dignity with which this regal girl bore the honor of 
so near a connection with herself — as well as at the atten- 
tion and devotion that the refined and wealthy Eveline 
Howard, and her dignified, elegant brother Fred, lavished 
on her — but which she was fain to confess, Elenor repaid 
with loving tenderness and respect. 

Not that Mrs. Hamilton was disposed to depreciate her 
new-found niece, but there was just the slightest feeling 
of disappointment, that even her reflected glory could add 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


207 


nothing to Elenor’s prestige or position — but on the con- 
trary, her niece would be a new and brilliant star, whose 
radiance would add lustre to her drawing-rooms. 

Of course Hugh and Ada came the next day, in their 
handsome pony phaeton — as they lived some distance from 
Mrs. Hamilton’s — to see the long absent ones. That it 
was indeed a trying moment — that first meeting after such 
changes — we can well imagine. Poor Ada ! on her it was 
hardest of all. When she saw Elenor in all her marvellous 
beauty — even more perfect than when she had seen her 
last — as though the soft sunlight of Italy had given to the 
dark eyes a new lustre, and to her cheek a richer tint — 
while on the perfect lips lingered the deep glow of its own 
red roses ; and added to all her graceful manners, perfected 
by foreign travel and society — when Ada noted this, she 
felt more keenly the doubt, that had long been growing 
into certainty — that Hugh would never love her, as he had 
loved this glorious creature. 

But to the casual observer, they met calmly and cor- 
dially — while in reality, each heart was throbbing with a 
passionate pain, that could not be stifled. 

Mrs. Hamilton insisted on introducing her niece to her 
friends by a splendid entertainment — for she knew the 
sensation Elenor would create — but Col. Stacey objected — 
saying he had been absent so long, he must hasten home. 

* “ Well,” replied his sister, “you can go, Fred, if you 
must, and leave Elenor with me, which I think you ought 
to do anyway — she is as much my neice as yours, and I 
have as good right to her. ” 

“ I will not agree to that, Ellen — have I not the best 
right to you, my dear ?” turning to Elenor who had been 
listening with eager interest to the question of going or 
staying — party, or departing — for she was really anxious 
to be again at a safe distance from Hugh — anxious to put 
miles between herself and the man she was tempted still to 


208 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


think of, more than was consistent with her ideas of right, 
or conducive to her peace — knowing him so near, and see- 
ing him, (as she would doubtless do) frequently. Elenor 
laid her hand caressingly on her uncle’s, as she answered — 

“ He is my guardian, aunt Ellen, and I must be guided 
by him ; my dead father left me to his care, and I ought 
to obev him as I would that father, if he were living.” 

“Of course, child, but my brother and your uncle, 
must be reasonable. You will be as good as buried as far 
as society is concerned at the Hall, and you ought to — and 
shall — see something of it while you are here — so the mat- 
ter is settled, and I shall send out my invitations at once.” 

Mrs. Hamilton conquered — as a woman usually does, 
when she determines to do so — and she decided in her own 
mind, that it should be the most recherche affair of the 
opening season. 

That evening, after Hugh and Ada’s visit, Ool. Stacey 
found Elenor alone in the twilight on the veranda, and in 
tears. “ My dear child, what is it ? — why these tears ?” 
he asked, lifting her face to his, to assure himself that he 
was not mistaken. 

“ 0 uncle ! let us leave here, and go at once to the Hall 
— I cannot bear it — I thought I was stronger and she 
leaned her head on her uncle’s shoulder, as he put an arm 
tenderly around her, in his loving way, while he said, 
almost sternly, for him — 

“ Child, this will never do ! you must try to bear seeing 
Hugh the husband of another, or how can you ever be 
happy in the love of any other man ?” 

“I do not want the love of any other man ! exclaimed 
Elenor passionately — then pleadingly — “'Oh, take me away 
from here, dear uncle — I thought I was growing reconciled 
— but a sight of Hugh, has shown me how weak and rebel- 
lious I am still.” 

“ My poor child !” returned Col. Stacey, more gently, 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


209 


“ we must remain now until after your aunt’s party, that 
she is giving for your benefit — it would not do to "disap- 
point her.” 

“ No — I suppose not,” says Elenor reluctantly, “ but I 
wish it was over, and we were together at the Hall — away 
from all temptation.” 

“Oh, you will enjoy it, my dear, for you will be the 
cynosure of all eyes, and your sex all like that, eh, little 
girl ?” returned her uncle lightly, in his efforts to draw her 
thoughts from the one torturing subject he had hoped was 
buried and forgotten. 

******* 

Col. Stacey and Miss Howard both, had made valuable 
additions to Elenor’s wardrobe in Paris, so that she had, 
among many others, several of Worth’s most exquisite con- 
ceptions, in the way of evening dresses — one that her aunt 
Ellen selected as best suited to her style, was of rich garnet- 
colored silk, trimmed with point-lace. The low bodice and 
short sleeves showed to perfection the beautiful neck and 
arms — the slender throat was encircled by a necklace of 
garnet, and in the delicate ears, long pendants quivered 
and glowed with their imprisoned, blood-red light, while in 
her hair, gleamed a crimson Japonica — the only bit of 
color to relieve its jet-black waves. And when Elenor 
stood with Mrs. Hamilton under the blazing chandelier, 
and was introduced to her friends, she looked indeed like 
some young duchess, in her dark, regal beauty. 

Hugh was strangely silent and absorbed during the 
evening ; and though he tried to turn away his eyes, and 
thoughts, from the lovely vision, the old magnetic power 
that "Elenor had, always "exercised over him, drew them 
back to herself, until at last, he yielded to the spell, and 
gave himself up to the pleasure of watching this rare en- 
chantress, whom he had lost by his own mad act. 

Col. Stacy, with the delicacy and tact peculiar to him, 


210 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


devoted himself to Ada, and succeeded in a measure, in 
drawing her attention from her husband’s preoccupied 
manner — so unusual, and unlike his gay, sociable habit in 
society. 

And Ada, too, was looking her best, and prettiest — for 
she had bestowed great care on her toilet, in her very 
natural desire, not to be entirely eclipsed by the siren who 
had bewitched Hugh ; and she was in that interesting con- 
dition, that lends new beauty to some women. There was 
a softer light in the violet eyes — a rosier fulness on the 
delicate cheek — a sweeter smile around the tender, mobile 
mouth — a more spirituelle expression on the whole face — 
almost such a look in fact, as you could fancy the Holy 
Virgin wore, when the Immaculate Conception slept be- 
neath her heart, and anticipations of the Divine maternity 
tilled her soul ! 

Elenor was so surrounded all the evening, that Hugh 
had little opportunity for saying what he had longed to say, 
since he had known that he would see her, and had asked 
himself a thousand times — “ what must she think of me ?” 
and now his heart failed him, as he thought — “ what could 
I say ? How exonerate myself from blame in her eyes ? No ; 
it is best so — explanations are dangerous — but I must not, 
will not , see her again, it is more than I can bear I” Poor 
Hugh ! he strove very hard to banish regret , and be true to 
the innocent girl he had wronged, by marrying — for can 
any circumstance make it right or safe, for a man to marry 
one woman, when his whole heart is filled with love for 
another ? But surely, if ever a man might be held blame- 
less for being inveigled into such an act Hugh was .that 
man. 

Mrs. Hamilton was more than satisfied with the sensa- 
tion Elenor created among her friends, and was almost 
wearied with the oft-repeated remark — “ How very lovely 
your niece is, dear Mrs. Hamilton — where have you been 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 211 

hiding this ‘ rare and radiant maiden’ that we see her now 
for the first time ?” 

And with pardonable pride she would explain-—*' “ My 
niece has just returned from abroad, where she has been 
travelling, since her education was completed.” 

% * * * * * 

A few days after the party, Col. Stacey and Elen or left 
for Georgia — but the former carried with him a promise 
from Miss Howard that their separation should be short. 
For — as the reader has doubtless suspected — Col. Stacey 
had learned to love the gentle, refined woman very truly, 
during their pleasant travels abroad — not with the first, 
passionate love of youth, perhaps, nor thus did she regard 
him — but they each entertained for the other, a chastened, 
pure, and abiding affection, that they knew would brighten 
the noonday of their lives, and gild its declining years. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Hot until they were alone on their homeward journey, 
did Col. Stacey communicate to Elenor the welcome news 
— that she had for some time half suspected, and devoutly 
hoped might be true. 

“ Oh ! I am so glad, dear uncle !” she exclaimed, “if I 
could have selected from all the world, my precious sister is 
the woman I would have chosen for you. Nothing could 
add so much to my happiness as this — you surely divined 
it was my dearest wish, for I have long felt that you were 
made for each other.” 

“ I am rejoiced that you are pleased, my dear, though 
I believed you would be ;” replied Col. Stacey. 

“ Yes, indeed ; I cannot tell you how delighted I am— 


212 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING . 


but when will you bring her to the Hall, uncle ? Do let it 
be soon, for I shall miss her so terribly !” urged Elenor. 

‘• Just as soon as she will let me, you may be sure. She 
almost promised that I might return for her early in De- 
cember — but the happy day is not yet fixed. I must have 
the old place brightened up a little for my fastidious bride, 
so you will find work enough for your head and hands in 
helping me, my dear. I ordered new furniture before I 
left Baltimore, for some of the rooms — it will be there 
before us I expect.” 

“ It will be a labor of love,” returned Elenor, “ to do 
anything I can to render more attractive the future home 
of one who has done so much to brighten my life as that 
dear, good woman, and I am so glad that I .have been the 
means of bringing you two together, who are so dear to 
me, and who I know will add so much to each other’s hap- 
piness — Oh, will we not be a happy trio?” and tears of joy 
and gratitude dimmed for a moment, the dark eyes. ** I 
shall be impatient, dear uncle, for the time to come, when 
our dear one can be with us, never more to be separated in 
this life !” 

“ Until you leave us, dear, to brighten and bless the 
home of some good man,” replied her uncle — “ do you 
think I shall be permitted to keep such a rara avis in the 
home-nest long ? I fear not. Nor could I wish it — 
whatever is for my darling’s happiness, I shall try to bear 
for her sake.” 

“I shall never marry, dear uncle — if I could ever have 
loved again, I should have loved Mr. De Lancev ; but it 
was not to be — and I cannot force my heart,” replied Ele- 
nor quietly, but firmly. 

“Not yet, perhaps, dear, but time is a great healer ; and 
I shall never feel entirely reconciled to myself, until you 
are happy in the love of another,” said her uncle. 

“Btft I am not unhappy, uncle — do not think that” — 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


213 


and then Elenor was silent, thinking she had not been 
quite truthful, in her great desire to save her uncle from 
any self-reproach, which he was prone to indulge — too 
morbidly — in regard to his share in her troubles. 

Presently Col. Stacey said — “ You know we go to As- 
pendale first, my dear.” 

“ 0 uncle ! there — where I have been at once so happy 
and so miserable ! I doubt if the whole world held so 
wretched a being as I, when I went forth from its gates — 
branded with a worse than the mark of Cain !” and Elenor 
shuddered even now as she recalled those dark days.' 

“That is all past, my child — do not live it over again ; 
think how differently you return — the loved and honored 
daughter of a proud name, welcomed by all — for your 
Aunt Lilian and Uncle Walter are longing to greet you, 
and they would feel hurt if we did not go to them at once. 
Besides, she fears you may not feel cordial towards her, for 
the part she took in Hugh’s unfortunate marriage — though 
she believed it would promote his happiness, by helping 
him to forget — you cannot blame her ?” 

“'Ho ; I do not blame her, under the circumstances; 
and I could bear it all, if I thought her aim had been ac- 
complished — but I fear, Hugh is not happy.” 

“He cannot be entirely miserable with such a wife 
as Ada ; my greatest fear is that she will be the keenest 
sufferer, or I have greatly mistaken the sensitive, noble 
woman I believe her to be,” replied Col. Stacey. 

“Yes, she is a good woman, and I sincerely hope she 
may be a happy one. I wish, for her sake, as well as my 
own, that Hugh and I had never looked into each other’s 
faces again — it would have been better for all parties,” 
returned Elenor with visible emotion. 

“ My dear, do not talk so — you make me feel that I 
don’t deserve to be so happy in my own love, when I have 
caused you to suffer so keenly.” 


214 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ But you must not feel so, dear uncle ; as I have said, 
I am not wholly unhappy, and was only regretting the 
meeting which had awakened memories that were dormant, 
if not dead. But I will not , if I can help it,” she said, 
trying to smile brightly, “ever again 

‘ Look mournfully into the past, 

But go forth to meet the shadow future 
Without fear, and with a brave heart/ ” 

“ Thank you, my darling ! it makes me happy to hear 
you say this,” replied her uncle. 

“ Let us never speak of it again, uncle Fred.” And 
they never did. Years after they both remembered this 
hour — when the past, though a sad, was no longer a pain- 
ful memory. 

* 4 ; 4 * 4 ; 

V *1* *1* T V v 

Major Stacey met them at the station, and as he folded Ele- 
nor to his heart, and saw the striking family likeness, he 
wondered afresh how they could have been so blind. “ My 
dear child, can you ever forgive such idiots as we were,” 
he said, “and acknowledge us as kin? Welcome dear 
niece, thrice welcome to our hearts, and to the home of 
your father ! We are all prepared to love you very dearly, 
and to try and atone for the past.” And he held her from 
him and gazed fondly into her lovely, tear*dimmed eyes, 
and flower-like face. 

“I have nothing to forgive, dear uncle Walter — you 
were always kind and good, before you knew I was your 
naughty niece, and it is I who should ask your forgiveness 
for entering your family as a teacher, with part of a 
name,” said Elenor smiling. 

“ I think you have been sufficiently punished, my poor 
child — but the carriage is waiting, and your aunt and 
cousins are impatient to see you. Fred, I am glad to see 
you looking so well, old fellow — foreign travel agrees with 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


215 


you. But why did you not bring that sweet sister along 
too ? I did not know but she might bewitch you, as she 
has Elen or. ” 

“ Perhaps she has — have patience, and I may introduce 
her to you before long, as mistress of the Hall,” returned 
Col. Stacey laughingly, as he hurried away to look after 
their baggage ; while Major Stacey led Elenor to the car- 
riage — not dreaming for a moment, that there was any 
truth in his brother’s gay badinage. 

The drive was pleasant and cheerful, for the brothers 
had much to say to each other after their long separation, 
and there was little need for Elenor to talk, which she felt 
a great relief — being busy with her own thoughts, and 
living over again the months which had left their impress 
on her young life — never to be effaced. 

Her heart beat fast, and the tears would come, as the 
carriage entered the familiar avenue at Aspendale, while a 
thousand memories came thronging on her brain — the pleas- 
ant walks she and Hugh had enjoyed under its grateful 
shade — his first confession of love in the moonlight of that 
never-to-be-forgotten Christmas night, that now seemed so 
long ago, and the miserable ending, to their short, happy 
dream. Ah, very soon had Elenor broken her promise not 
to “ look mournfully into the past.” 

Col. Stacey noticed her emotion, and knew by what 
memories she was stirred — he pressed her hand and whis- 
pered — u Be brave, my darling, and remember your resolu- 
tion — there are the children running to meet you, let them 
see the cheerful, smiling face of their whilom governess, as 
they remember it,” and smiles chased away the tears, as 
the carriage stopped, and Maud and Wattie clambered up 
to kiss and welcome “ cousin Elenor.” 

And Mrs. Stacey hardly waited for her to get out, be- 
fore her arms were round her in a loving clasp, and she too 
was pouring out words of penitence and regret, for all the 


216 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING . 


dear girl had suffered, as coherently as she could for her 
sobs. Her husband seeing her agitation and how entirely 
she was overcome, drew her gently away, whispering — 

“ Lilian, dear, Elenor is very tired, do not excite her by 
any allusion to the past — let us only rejoice that we have 
her with us at last, and help her to forget.” Then eager 
black hands were outstretched, and Maumer Betty’s and 
Patty’s faces were radiant with welcome for their dear Miss 
Elenor, now their “ very own young misses,” as Patty 
exultantly said to the other servants when the good news 
had been told her. 

It was still some hours before night when they reached 
Aspendale, and after Mrs. Stacey had taken Elenor to her 
own old room to rest. Col. Stacey said he would go over 
and see Williams, and let them know at the Hall that he 
had come. “ I will return to tea, tell Lily, and remain 
until bedtime, but I must sleep at home to-night, Wal- 
ter, it seems such an age since I left.” 

“ Well, take my horse, Fred — I will have him round 
in a moment,” said his brother. 

“No, thank you, Walter, I’d much rather walk — I need 
the exercise, after being cooped up for so long.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

That night, after Maud and Wattie had been sent re- 
luctant to bed (for the children were very loth to leave 
their new-found cousin, and long- absent uncle), Col. Stacey 
told his brother and Lily of his anticipated marriage. And' 
though Miss Howard was a stranger to them personally, yet 
from all they had heard of her, they were prepared to con- 
gratulate him on his choice, and were truly glad that at 


THE SADDEST OF ALL LS LOVING . 


217 


last, there would be a wife and mistress to preside over his 
lonely home. 

The next day the Singletons, Mrs. Williams and Winnie, 
came over to welcome the wanderers. Elenor was charmed 
at the change* in her little pupil — for as we know, time 
(and her illness) had so enhanced Winnie’s beauty, and 
added to her attractions, that Elenor could but observe it 
with pleasure, and the warmest admiration ; and the girl’s 
unqualified delight at again seeing her dear teacher, was 
very grateful to Elenor’s loving heart. She almost forgot 
during the day the long months of travel, and sight-seeing 
— as also the dark days of the past— and imagined herself 
still Mrs. Stacey’s happy governess, and all the rest a dream 
from which she had at last awakened. 

May kept Winnie’s cheeks in a flame, by her hints and 
inuendoes about “ cousin Robert” — for Elenor’s especial 
edification — until she, in pity for the girl’s blushes, turned 
the tables on May, by saying — 

“ You have not enquired about Stacey, May, but he 
did not forget you — let me whisper the message he charged 
me to give you — ‘ Take care of my interest, cousin Elenor,’ 
he said, f and don’t let anybody steal her away from me — 
tell her, I shall soon be able to propose another co-partner- 
ship, for I am now the junior member of the firm of Ran- 
dal, Legare & Hamilton — attorneys at law ;’ ” but she 
did not whisper so low, but Winnie could hear, and it was 
now May’s turn to blush, which she did so furiously that 
the former clapped her hands in delight, saying — 

‘ 4 Thank yon, Miss Elenor, now I shall be able to pay 
Mav in her own coin — though I suspected as much before 
— so mend your ways Miss May, or you shall not hear the 
last of Stacey Hamilton.” 

“ I know" Stacey is a special friend of mine, Winnie, so 
vou need not imagine you have learned a great secret ; and 
I like him very much — especially Miss Elenor, since I knew 


218 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


he was your cousin,” said May, trying to appear quite un- 
conscious of anything more than a mere boy and girl 
friendship. 

“ Yes, May, you need not be ashamed of the friendship, 
for Stacey is a noble boy — a little spoiled by indulgence 
perhaps, but he is being cured of that, as be takes his place 
of trust and responsibility in the world, and I think the in- 
fluence of a certain little girl, would do much toward mak- 
ing a fine character of my cousin, one of these days,” 
returned Elenor, as she looked fondly at the blushing girl, 
and thought of the sweet vanished hope she had once en- 
tertained of being an influence for good, in the life of a 
lover — the dearest and bonniest that ever woman had — and 
lost ! 

In the evening, Temple Gwynn came to -welcome his 
friends and favorites — for no one in Clinton, or the neigh- 
borhood could rival these two in his regard. Yet he was 
one of the few men who had come within the sphere of 
Elenor’s magnetic influence who did not love her (in the 
usual acceptation of the word) but entertained for her a 
pure and disinterested regard, so rare between young per- 
sons of opposite sexes — and she too felt for him a sister’s 
affection ; never having had a brother on whom to lavish 
that pure, almost holy, love — that is so different from all 
other. And this feeling grew, and strengthened in their 
hearts, until a few years later it was cemented by Temple’s 
marriage to her cousin — Maud Hamilton. 

Elenpr was surprised when she was fairly installed in 
her pleasant home at the Hall, at the interest with which 
she entered into all her uncle’s plans, and found what a 
panacea occupation is for the human heart, and how much 
life still held for her of calm enjoyment and quiet con- 
tent. 

The new furniture had arrived and quite a change in 
the order of things was soon effected, and so great was the 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


219 


improvement, that Elenor was in raptures, and said she 
thought even fastidious Miss Howard would be satisfied. 

“ And now, Nellie,” said her uncle when everything 
was complete, “your portrait must be hung, and then I 
wish you to drive over in the new phaeton (that will be a 
susprise for your aunt Lilian too) and tell Lily and Walter 
to come over to-morrow — I have not said a word to them 
about the portrait, or the new furniture, as I wished to 
surprise them.” 

But Col. Stacey had another object also in getting his 
niece away for a few hours. He had ordered a handsome 
new piano as a present to her, and to-day the wagon had gone 
to the railway-station to bring it, and would arrive while she 
was absent — for he wished to surprise her too. She returned 
just before tea, and after they left the table he said — 

“ Nellie, come into the parlor, and let us see how your 
portrait looks by lamp-light,” for he had bid the servant 
light the room while they were at supper. The door was 
open, and right under the smiling, life-like picture of her- 
self, stood a splendid, grand piano — open and inviting the 
touch of her skilful fingers. 

“ Why ! — I did not know — this was not here when I 
left — uncle !” she turned and saw Col. Stacey smiling at 
her bewildered expression, as he took her hand, and with 
mock courtesy said, 

“Allow me, Miss Stacey,” and seated her on the hand- 
some stool in front of it. “ Try it, Nellie, it is yours, my 
dear — a gift from your loving uncle and guardian.” 

Elenor turned, and throwing her arms around his neck, 
kissed him again and again, saying, when she^ had finished 
the operation of kissing — “ Oh, you dear, good uncle ! how 
shall I ever thank you ! I have been wondering what I 
should do without a piano, and did not like to think of 
your taking the old one from Winnie — Oh, I thank you a 
thousand times !” 


220 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ Nine hundred and ninety-nine times too many, my 
dear — but you have not tried it.” 

“ I will now, if I can command my nerves sufficiently 
after the startling, but pleasant surprise,” and Elenor ran 
her hands over the keys, and pronounced the tone ex- 
quisite. Then she played a beautiful arrangement of 
“Home Again,” with variations. 

“ Sing it, Nellie,” said her uncle, when she had finished 
the instrumental piece, “ I like the words, and they are 

especiallv appropriate now.” 

* " * * * * * * 

Major Stacey and his wife came over the next morning, 
and when they were shown into the parlor, you can imagine 
their surprise. Mrs. Stacey exclaimed (a woman is always 
first to speak on such occasions, or any other, for that 
matter). 

“ Well, Fred ! I am astonished — as you intended I 
should be. I don’t know which most to admire — the por- 
trait, the furniture, or the piano ; but the picture is your 
living image, Elenor — where was it painted, and who was 
the artist ? tell me all about it.” 

“ 4 Thereby hangs a tale,’ ” said Col. Stacey looking 
roguishly at his niece, “ get Nellie to tell you about the 
artist — poor fellow ! I expect he kept a copy — she refused 
him the original.” 

“'Uncle Fred ! hush ! I cannot bear to think or speak 
lightly of Mr. De Lancey — he was the artist, aunt Lilian, 
and it was painted in Venice. Unfortunately he fell in 
love with the foolish face he was copying, and I was more 
sorry than I can tell you — for he was such a noble, hand- 
sonle man — but I could not love him as he deserved to 
be loved, and was obliged to refuse him. I think it hurt 
him very much — but I hope he was not really unhappy 
long.” And Elenor looked quite sad as she recalled this 
episode of her life abroad, that had really given her pain. 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


221 


44 ‘Men have died and been eaten of worms — but never 
of love’— so don’t vex your tender heart, Nellie,” said her 
uncle Walter gayly. 

44 1 hope that it is so, at least, in Mr. De Lancey’s case, 
uncle Walter, but I believe men have died of love, Shake- 
speare to the contrary notwithstanding,” returned Elenor. 

44 It may be so, Nellie, but I have never known a case 
— let us hope your promising artist escaped with his life, at 
any rate —for he would be a great loss to the profession — 
your portrait is certainly finely executed, and a remarkably 
good likeness,” says Major Stacey. 

“It is just lovely!” put in his wife, “ but you must 
let us hear the tone of your piano, Nellie, when we have 
seen the other rooms. I am so glad you have done this, 
Fred — it is really refreshing ; ‘ old things are best,’ in some 
instances, but not old furniture, for a new bride.” 

If they had been charmed with the parlor, they were 
no less so with Elenor’s beautiful room — with its hand- 
some appointments, and the bridal-chamber — which was 
even more exquisite. The arrangement of this room had 
indeed been a labor of love to Elenor ; the selection of 
each nook and appropriate place for every article of furni- 
ture, the hanging of the pictures to suit her artistic eye, 
and please the esthetic taste of the woman who would grace 
it — she undertook herself, with the aid of efficient servants, 
and had actually shut out her uncle Fred, until all was 
complete — even to the dainty looping of the rose-lined lace 
curtains, and filling the rare vases with lovely flowers. 

“Fred, I hope your bride-elect is pretty enough to'har- 
monize with her surroundings ; I should hate to see an 
ugly, ungraceful woman presiding over the dear old place 
— is Miss Howard pretty, Nellie ?” asked Mrs. Stacey, as 
they came out, and Elenor, locked the door of the sacred 
bridal-chamber, putting the key in her pocket. 

“ I do not know, aunt Lillian, I have never thought of 


222 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


it,” replied Elenor, “ I only know she is very sweet and lov- 
able to me — you must ask uncle Fred if she is pretty.” 

“ I think you have answered the question satisfactorily, 
my dear,” said her uncle. “ I do not suppose in the estima- 
tion of those who did not love her, Miss Howard would be 
considered pretty ; but when you corne to know her, Lily, I 
don’t think you will have any difficulty in deciding the 
question. Let us have the music now, Nellie — I want your 
aunt’s opinion of the instrument.” 

******* 

“By the way, Fred,” said his brother a little later, 
“you have never told us how your suit against that hor- 
rid woman terminated.” 

“ Have I not ? Well, she gave us the slip — in other 
words, left for parts unknown ; and Nellie’s tender heart, 
and Eveline’s Christian charity, prevailed with me to leave 
her to the avenging Nemesis of her own conscience — but I 
very much doubt if her easy conscience proves a very ter- 
rible avenger,” said Col. Stacey. 

“Ah, Nellie, how could you plead for the wicked crea- 
ture ?” said her uncle Walter. “I have not so much 
grace ; and confess, I am sorry she has escaped the retribu- 
tion, she so richly merits.” 

“ But has she escaped, uncle Walter ? Let us leave her 
in the hands of Him who saith — 4 Vengeance is mine, I will 
repay,”’ returned the noble girl, whose life this woman 
had wellnigh wrecked ! Yet I think she has forgiven 
even her ! 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


But our heroine did not find her life entirely marred— 
as we have said — because she had lost the one supreme, and 
highest joy it contained for her. No : in spite of itself 
youth is elastic, and young exuberant health and spirits, 
are not easily crushed, ^and Elenor was happier than she 
had believed it possible to be, amid the scenes of her short- 
lived engagement, and its sad ending. 

And during the time that elapsed before her uncle’s 
marriage, she had little chance to indulge in retrospect. 
She vibrated between Roselawn, Aspendale, and the Hall, 
and a keen observer would hardly have detected any change 
from the bright, sunny Elepor of those untroubled days 
when the star of Hope shone o’er her pathway — so suc- 
cessfully did the brave girl conceal from every eye, the 
least trace of the deep wound her heart had received. 

She never tired of hearing of her dead father — her noble 
grandparents, and the gentle girl, her uncle had loved and 
lost. The dear old home — each nook and corner of house 
and grounds — had a new and tender interest for her. And 
to Maumer Cinthy’s long yarns, she lent a willing ear — of 
the good old times when, “ole massa and mistislib’d, and 
your pa was de finest young man in all dese parts — ah, 
honey;” the old woman would say, “ I’se so thankful de 
good Lord have let me lib to see Mass Jack’s chile in her 
fader’s house. Wish ole mistis could a seed it too, fer you 
is de very spit of her, chile ; I was a little gal when massa 
fetched her from ole Virginy, but I ’members how she 
looked at dat time, and you is her own chile in your like- 


224 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


ness. I know massa went in de coach and four arter her, 
and my daddy was de driver, and my brudder Simon, he 
went ’long too, up on de dickey wid daddy, to open de gates 
and let down de long steps dev used to have to de car- 
riages in dem days — Oh, I tell you honey, ’twas gran ! 
nothin like it now, wid de little weak pha’t’ns, as dev call 
nm, dat can’t bar de wate of a good big ole Virginy nigger. 
And jes ter think ! Mass Fred gwine to be married at las ; 
laws a massy, but I is glad, ’cause I’s gitten too ole to tend 
to dis ’stablishment any how, and you is too young honey 
— so I thanks de good Lord dat sen somebody ter take keer 
of him when I’s done ded and gone.” 

* * * * * * * 

Swiftly the day rolled round that had been fixed for 
Col. Stacey’s marriage, and now he has gone for his bride, 
and Elenor is staying at Aspendale, during his absence. 
They were to be married and return at once to the Hall — 
for both had had enough of travel — so none of the family 
accompanied him. Hugh, his wife, and Mr. Kandal were 
the only persons present to witness the quiet, but im- 
pressive ceremony— except, of course the family — that took 
place in the Hamilton drawing-room ; Mr. Hamilton giving 
away the bride. 

The short December day, threw their arrival into the 
dusk of the evening, and Mrs. Stacey and Elenor had 
thrown open all the blinds, and had every room brilliantly 
lighted from basement to garret. The grounds too were 
illuminated with Chinese lanterns, and over the front en- 
trance of the portico was a transparency showing conspicu- 
ously the words — Welcome to the Mistress of Stacey 
Hall. The whole presented a beautiful and cheering 
scene, as you entered the large gate that opened from the 
high-road into the smooth, level carriage- drive that trav- 
ersed the spacious lawn. 

“ Look, Mass Fred ! sumthin’ mu s’ be afire,” said the 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


225 


coachman, (Maumer Cinthy’s son — named Simon for his il- 
lustrious uncle, aforesaid) ; and Col. Stacey looking out, 
knew in a moment, that it was a welcome Lily and Elenor 
had planned in honor of his bride. 

(, Do look, Eveline!” he said, “is it not bright and 
pretty ? I trust it is an earnest of the new light and beauty 
that you will henceforth shed over my home, dear wife ; 
Nellie’s loving heart planned this in your honor, I know — 
for I knew nothing of it.” 

“Dear child ! How glad I shall be to see her — yes, 
it is beautiful, and looks like a fairy scene, and an en- 
chanted palace, where the queen of the fairies is hold- 
ing her revels,” returned Mrs. Eveline, while her heart 
throbbed with pleasure, as she neared her future home 
with the man by her side — whom she so truly loved and 
admired. 

The carriage swept around the circular drive, amid the 
gleaming lights, and drew up in front of the portico, 
where the family from Aspendale and Elenor, were gath- 
ered to welcome them. Hearty greetings and congratu- 
lations were soon exchanged, and Elenor carried her new 
aunt up to the dainty bridal-chamber to rest and change 
her dress before she came down to the elegant supper pre- 
pared for the occasion. 

“ 0 Nellie ! how lovely !” exclaimed Mrs. Eveline, as 
Elenor threw open the door of the pretty bedroom — bright 
with a cheerful wood-fire, and fragrant with rare flowers 
— and bid her enter. “ I can see your exquisite taste, my 
dear, in all this, and I thank you. What a sweet home you 
and I have found, my child, and how grateful we should 
be that a kind Father has brought us, after all our trials 
to this safe haven of rest and peace, and to the loving pro- 
tection of your noble uncle — and my husband !” 

“ Iam glad you like it, dear sister — let me call you so 
still, it is the dearest name to me,” said Elenor, and very 


226 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


inconsistently, she threw her arms around her friend, and 
burst into tears. 

“ What ! tears, Nellie — are you sorry to have me for 
an aunt ?” 

44 No, oh no, — I am very, very glad — uncle must have 
told you — what I also wrote — that I would have chosen you 
from the whole world for his wife ; and I can hardly tell 
you why I weep — partly from joy, I suppose, and partly 
because I am selfish enough to feel just a little bit sorry 
that I shall no longer he first in your heart — or in uncle’s 
— there is no one now, to love me lest. Am I not foolish ?” 

44 No, dear ; only mistaken — for the love we bear each 
other is entirely different, and does not take a grain, from 
that we feel for you — how could it ? So you are still our 
only best-loved , Nellie — does that satisfy you ?” asked Mrs. 
Eveline, kissing her fondly.* 

44 It ought to, at any rate,” returned Elenor smiling. 
44 Now sit here in this sleepy-hollow of a chair, and tell me 

about aunt Ellen, and all of them, while you rest.” 
******* 

44 Mrs. Lillian gave her brother-in-law and his bride a 
reception the next evening at Aspendale — but only a small 
circle of their most intimate friends were present — for Col. 
Stacey was so averse to crowds, he would only consent to 
accept the compliment, on her promising this. He had 
always contended that marriage was too sacred a thing 
to be the subject of idle gossip, and prying curiosity, and 
believed the first, sweet, self-engrossed weeks, should be 
passed after the English fashion, instead of on crowded 
railways, and amid the noisy glare of a fashionable hotel or 
watering-place — as the American manner is. 

Mrs. Eveline soon won fyer way to the hearts of all — 
even Miss Jemima could find nothing spiteful to say of her 
— for she was one of the few women that disarm criticism, 
and 44 who have a rare social witchery, with no other form 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


227 


of genius ; and an art of pleasing, that amounts to fascina- 
tion.” 

* * * * * * * 

The few weeks that remained to them before the legis- 
lature convened, passed all too rapidly, and it was with a 
feeling of regret, that Ool. Stacey, his wife and niece, left 
their happy home, to mingle awhile in the gay society of 
the capital. Yet it was with some, very excusable, pride, 
that he thought of having two such attractive women to 
grace the fashionable circles, in which he had been so pop- 
ular the winter previous. 

Nor was he disappointed in thinking that his wife and 
Elenor, could not fail to make a pleasing and lasting im- 
pression on all who enjoyed the honor of their acquaint- 
ance ; for there are doubtless many who will remember the 
elegant and refined Mrs. Stacey, and her beautiful niece 
the belle par excellence, of the State capital, in the winter 
of 18 — . And her many admirers have not forgotten how 
in their revenge for the indifference with which she re- 
garded their tender protestations, they bestowed on her the 
paradoxical sobriquet of the “tropical iceberg” — her warm 
Southern beauty, contradicting so palpably her (apparently) 
cold, unimpressible heart. But the reader, who has sym- 
pathized in all that loving heart has suffered, knows it was 
a misnomer, and that only one voice ever had power to stir 
its passionate depths ; and that voice now — must not, can- 
not speak ! 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


It is again October — a year has passed when we return 
to see how it has fared with our hero, and his gentle wife. 
Hugh has risen rapidly in his profession, and Ada’s ambi- 
tion is satisfied in regard to her husband — if not her love — 
but will that suffice for any woman ? And her little girl, 
now ten months old, is lovely and winning enough to glad- 
den the heart of the most exacting mother — and she is 
the light and joy of Ada’s life — but while the child has 
grown in strength and beauty, the loving mother has been^ 
fading — slowly fading. 

In the spring, when his wife first showed signs of fail- 
ing health, Hugh was very uneasy, but the doctor quieted 
his fears by saying — “It is nursing the child — she must 
give that up.” And though it was a great trial to Ada to 
give up this sweetest privilege of a mother, she could not 
resist Hugh’s pleadings, and her physician’s advice. A wet 
nurse was procured, a healthy Irish woman, to whom the 
child took kindly — but when the summer advanced, and 
still Ada did not improve, the doctor said she must try a 
more bracing climate. 

To the mountains they go for the summer — Hugh leav- 
ing all business, to devote himself with untiring attention, . 
and tender solicitude to his wife ; and when the chill au- 
tumn days have brought them back to the city, he feels 
with increased anxiety, that little benefit has been attained. 
Which was true ; for the cause of Ada’s failing health, lay 
too . deep for earthly skill to reach. Day after day and 
month after month, had she hoped — and hoped in vain — to 
win her husband’s more perfect love, until all hope was 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVINQ. 


229 


dead and despair reigned in her soul ; for she knew that into 
the inner sanctuary of his heart, she would never enter — 
that on that sacred altar was still enthroned the woman, 
who but for her, would have slept on the bosom, whose 
fountains are sealed to her — who would have crowned his 
life with a completeness, which now it lacked. For though 
Hugh was a kind and tender husband, Ada felt in every 
fibre of her being — that it was the tenderness of duty, the 
kindness of a generous, chivalrous nature, rather than the 
spontaneous love and devotion, a man yields to the wife 
who is dearer than all else to him. Perhaps Hugh himself 
was not conscious of the difference that was so keenly felt 
by the wife, who yearned so intensely for his entire and 
perfect love. 

But one thing is sure — Hugh did strive with all his 
high-souled, generous nature, to do his whole duty — hop- 
ing that in his tender, ceaseless care and affection, Ada 
might not miss the deeper, more passionate love, it was not 
in his power to give. Honestly did he endeavor to crush 
out all thought of her whom he had loved with an idola- 
trous love, and to forget “ the face that was fatally fair.” 

* * ¥ r * * * * 

Hugh had never called Ada, darling — not once in 
all their married life ; that name was sacred to the one 
peerless woman who had now dropped out of his life ; yet 
never could his lips bestow the sweet, pet name on any 
other being — not even his child. 

“ My dear wife,” he said to her one day, a few weeks 
after their return home, when Ada seemed weaker, and 
more depressed than usual, “ why is it that nothing seems 
to cheer, or make you better ? It distresses me to see you 
thus — let me write for May to come, would you not like to 
have her ?” and Hugh leaned tenderly over the couch, 
drawn in front of the bright coal fire, which the cool Oc- 
tober days made a necessity to the delicate invalid — and 


230 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


taking one of her thin hands, prsesed it caressingly to his 
lips. Tears sprang to her eyes at his tender solicitude, but 
she replied quietly, striving to subdue all emotion — 

“You are very kind, Hugh, but I do not know that 
anything will help me — though I have thought, if I could 
go back once more to the dear old home, and see them 
all, it might cheer me, at least ; and I long to show them 
my pretty darling.” Ada had caught a trick of saying, 
“ my baby — my darling,” never “ our ” — I suppose she felt 
keenly the price she had paid for it, and that her baby was 
the only, and dearest thing she had gained by her marriage 
with Hugh — the only compensation for lack of the love she 
had coveted, with a yearning that would never be satisfied. 

“ You shall go, my dear — why did you not say so be- 
fore ? Get ready as soon as you can, and I will take you 
and Lilv-bud,” replied Hugh, brightening at the idea of 
anything that would give her pleasure, and possible benefit. 

“ But Hugh, how can you leave your business ? and 
I have taken you away so much the past summer.” 

“ Duty, before business — and my dear wife’s health and 
happiness, before everything else, for me,” he said, smiling 
kindly on her. “I can take you there very well, and re- 
turn for the holidays — that will give me ample time — 
so go to work, and get ready. I will write to your father 
to send to the station next Thursday — can you- "make your 
arrangement to leave so soon ?” 

“ Oh yes, there is nothing to do, but pack our trunks ; 
I shall need little dressing, unless I improve very much, 
and Lily May has an ample supply on hand,” Ada says, 
with more of interest in her tone, than Hugh had heard 
for many a day. 

“ Will Catherine be willing to go, and take care of the 
child, do you think ?” 

“I think she will; she is so devoted to her, and did 
not hesitate about going with us in the summer.” 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


231 


“ Well, you had better find out at once, so you can get 
another nurse, if she is unwilling to go. Now, cheer up, 
dear wife, and let me see you look more like my bright 
Ada of other days.” Hugh kissed his wife and went away 
to his office, then the poor woman gave vent to her sup- 
pressed emotion, and sobs shook her fragile form, while 
she murmured to herself — It is no use — he is blind, 
blind ! He will not see that I am dying for his love, and 
while that is denied me, nothing will do me any good ! 
Bat I had rather die with my loved ones round me, and 
be laid to rest by my sweet mother’s side — yes, when I 
leave this home — where I had fondly hoped to be so 
happy — I know it will be, never to return. Oh ! it is hard 
to miss the one love, that is more than all else to you, al- 
most dearer than your hopes of heaven — and to die because 
you have missed it !” 

* * * * * * * 

“ Catherine,” said Mrs. Legare an hour or so later, as 
the nurse came in from taking the child out for a ride, 
in her elegant little carriage (a gift from Mr. Bandal), ‘ ; I 
am going to my old home in Georgia next week — will you 
go with me and take care of my baby ?” 

“ Indade, mum, it’s meself that would hate to give up 
me swate darlint — is it very far, mum ?” 

“ Not very far, Catherine, in these days of railroads — in 
fact, hardly so far as we went last summer.” 

“ Well, mum, if you plase, I think I’ll go — but I must 
see me mither the day, and know how me own puir orfin 
is thrivin’. I can send the wage to help um, can’t I, 
mum ?” 

“ Oh yes, I can send it for you by post-office order, in 
a letter every week, as I did before — there will be no diffi- 
culty about that.” 

*‘ Thank you, mum — then I may say, I will go, if me 
mither don’t fret. Me babby is took good care of, and its 


232 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


not him as I’m after bein’ afeard to leave — but his granny, 
if she should be took wid the sickness.” 

“ Well, leave the baby with me, Catherine, and go and 
see your mother, for I must know at once, what you will 
do. " Put her down and let her walk to me — my dear little 
daughter ! Will not grandpapa and aunties be glad to see 
you, darling !” 

The little girl — who was a remarkably precocious child 
— was beginning to toddle about, and to lisp the names of 
her parents and nurse, which was a new source of interest 
and delight to the fond mother. She had been named for 
Hugh’s and Ada’s only sisters — Lilian May — but her 
father’s pet name for her was Lily-bud — and strangely 
enough, the little thing was even fonder of him, than of 
her mother. 

The family at Roselawn had been for some time aware 
of Ada’s delicate health, but hoped that her sojourn among 
the mountains would restore her — and their anxiety was 
newly awakened, when Hugh’s letter came saying — “ Ada 
will be with you next Thursday, to spend some time, and 
try the effect of home air, and the society of the dear ones, 
she is longing to see. You must not be surprised to find 
her changed — for she is quite feeble at present — but I am 
hoping so much, from this visit to her old home, which she 
could not undertake during your enervating summer, or I 
should not have delayed so long, to bring her to you.” 

May was in ecstasies at the prospect of seeing her little 
niece and namesake — while her father, and aunt Mary, re- 
joiced with trembling. 

Elenor could not help a feeling of regret, when she 
learned that Hugh and his wife were expected. She was 
afraid of herself — afraid to meet again the man, whose 
presence brought the past so vividly before her, with its 
hopes and memories — so sweet then, so torturing now ! 
Yes, she dreaded a sight of Hugh. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


But Hugh only remained long enough to see his wife 
somewhat rested from the fatigue of her journey, and 
cheered by the glad welcome of the dear home circle — and 
then he left her — promising to return for the holidays or 
sooner, if she needed him. f . 

And so the meeting Elenor deprecated did not take 
place — and though she knew it was only deferred — still it 
was a relief for the time — and she rather liked the thought 
of seeing Ada, if Hugh was not by — so after a few days, 
she and her aunt Eveline went over to Roselawn, to call 
on her. 

At sight of the faded, delicate invalid, Elenor’s only 
emotion was tenderest pity and sympathy, as she clasped her 
in a warm embrace, and murmured tearfully — “ I am so 
sorry to see you so unwell, dear friend — but you will soon 
be stronger I trust, with your good father’s advice, and 
breathing your native air. Where is the little girl, aunt 
Mary ? I am anxious to see her,” she said, turning to Miss 
Thornton, and giving place at Ada’s couch to her aunt. 

There was no room now to harbor bitter feelings (though 
she had really never done so) towards this frail creature, 
on whom it was so plain that Death had set his signet ; ah, 
no — but instead, her whole heart was touched and grieved 
to see Ada so changed, from the bright, healthful girl she 
had known. 

“May has the baby somewhere, go and bring her 
Catherine,” replied aunt Mary, and very soon May came in, 
bearing her little niece proudly in her arms, and putting 
her on Elenor’s lap said — 

( 233 ) 


234 : 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


44 Isn’t she the sweetest thing you ever saw, Miss El- 
enor ? Oh, I do love her so dearly !” 

44 She is a dear little creature, May, and I do not wonder 
that you love her,” and Elenor bent and kissed the childish 
lips and brow, so like Hugh’s — for the little girl was a deli- 
cate, perfect miniature of her father — with her golden 
curls and lovely blue eyes. Did a presentment dawn on 
Elenor then — as she clasped and kissed the wee thing — of 
what this little image of Hugh, was destined to be to her, 
in the years to come ? 

Very soon Dr. Singleton came in, with his cheerful 
greeting — 44 Ah, good afternoon, Mrs. Stacey — and Nellie — 
now isn’t grandpa’s baby a beauty ? and so sensible — as a 
proof of this, she took to me from the first, and seemed to 
know by intuition who, and what I am to her. She is too 
smart I am afraid, with her wise, womanly little ways — 
come to grandpa, darling.” They all laughed at the old 
doctor’s enthusiasm over his first grandchild, while Ada 
said — 

4 * It is not so strange, papa, or any evidence of unusual 
brightness, that the child should have known you — for I 
have talked to her so much of 4 grandpa’ that no doubt it 
seemed quite right and natural for her to see and recog- 
nize you.” 

• 4 Pshaw ! it is not that, daughter — the child has just 
got more sense than her share, and there have been several 
idiots in consequence — eh, my pet ?” protested the old 
gentleman, while the little girl smiled, as though she quite 
understood it all, and lisped — 44 eth.” 

•• And Ada is much better, Mrs. Stacey — ” continued 
Dr. Singleton. 44 Georgia air will soon set her up again. 
You are looking quite bright this afternoon, daughter.” 

44 It is the pleasure of meeting old friends, dear papa, 
that has cheered me so,” replied the invalid. Indeed Ada 
had learned to love the noble Eveline Howard very much — 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


235 


during that lady’s sojourn with the Hamilton’s — and Miss 
Howard — who had heard all the particulars of Ada’s mar- 
riage, from Col. Stacey — felt a tender sympathy and inter- 
est in the gentle girl, who had been induced to wed the 
man she had loved all her life, with the hope and assur- 
ance from him, and his friends — that she could add to his 
happiness, and comfort him in his bitter disappointment ; 
(that she had failed was through no fault of hers) and she 
devoted much of her time when in Baltimore to cultivat- 
ing Ada’s acquaintance. 

And do you not think I might ride over and spend to- 
morrow with Lily, papa ?” asked Ada, “ I am so anxious 
to see all the old familiar places.” 

“ I think you might, my dear, if you are feeling as well 
in the morning, as now,” returned her father. 

“ And then we shall claim a day at the Hall, Mrs. 
Legare — may we not ?” asked Mrs. Eveline. 

44 Thank you, Mrs. Stacey, I shall be very glad to go, if 
I have strength enough.” 

44 We must not tire you, then, on our first visit — come 
Nellie, if you can leave that little cherub, we must go. I 
wish to see a sick child in the village, before we return.” 

* * * * * ¥r * 

Elenor did not let many days pass after this, without 
seeing Ada ; and her heart went out in a yearning love, 
and a truer affection for the woman who before, she had 
always looked upon somewhat in the light of a rival — but 
now "that she was Hugh’s wife, and a patient, uncomplain- 
ing sufferer, she took her into her heart, without reserve. 
And her society and tender ministrations, became one of 
Ada’s chief, and most comforting pleasures — while Elenor 
nobly endeavored to show herself so cheerful and satis- 
fied in her life, that no fear of having marred her hap- 
piness, might disturb the last days of the loving wife and 
mother. 


236 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VING. 


But not all the tender love and untiring devotion of 
friends and kindred, could stay the relentless hand of 
Death, that was slowly, but surely nearing the heartstrings 
of the doomed woman — she grew gradually frailer and 
weaker day by day, until even her fond father could no 
longer cheat his heart with the delusive hope that she 
would live. No, his darling was fading — going as her 
mother had gone before her, ay, even younger ; for disap- 
pointed hopes and secret grief, preying on the tender sen- 
sitive heart, had developed the seeds of consumption that 
might have perhaps longer lain dormant in a contented, 
happy life, and a perfectly requited love. Yet who shall 
say ? and who shall we blame ? Shall we arraign the 
husband, who had so faithfully striven to do his whole 
duty ? Shall we condemn the girl who was defrauded of 
her lover, through the base falsehoods of a wicked woman ? 
Or the mistaken sister, for her unfortunate effort to repair 
her brother’s wrecked happiness ? Shall we blame the 
poor woman herself — who is weak enough to pine and die, 

for the deeper, undivided love she could not win ? 

% * * * * * * 

Christmas brought Hugh, and with him came Stacey 
and Maud Hamilton, on a visit to their uncles. Neither of 
them had been to Georgia since they were quite young, and 
Mrs. Hamilton yielded to their earnest wish to accept an 
invitation from her brothers, (and Elenor’s entreaties) 
to spend the holidays amid the scenes of her girlhood — 
at Aspendale and the Hall ; and the only drawback to the 
pleasure all anticipated, was Ada’s rapid decline — for within 
a few weeks, it was perceptible to all, that the footsteps of 
the silent messenger, had been greatly accelerated. 

We know that there was a stronger attraction even than 
kindred for Stacey Hamilton, who had long contemplated 
this visit, and only waited for May to graduate, before he 
presented himself in the character of a suitor for her hand ; 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


237 


for he had learned enough of Dr. Singleton’s rigid notions, 
to know that he would not tolerate a lover, while his 
daughter was still a school-girl. 

Hugh was shocked at the change in his wife, and for 
the first time, began to realize the serious nature of her 
illness, and bitterly reproached himself, for remaining so 
long away from her : while in reality, Ada was the cause — 
for she wrote cheerful letters of her condition, and would 
not suffer any of the family to apprize Hugh of anything 
that might awaken his fears, or hasten his coming. 

Mrs. Walter Stacey felt it her duty, as well as pleasure 
to try and make the time pass agreeably to Stacey and 
Maud ; and on Christmas, she gave them a small but select 
party at Aspendale. Elenor had not yet seen Hugh — but 
his sister begged he would come to her party, if only for 
a little while ; and Ada joined her persuasions, when the 
evening came round. 

“Do go, dear,” she urged, “I am quite comfortable, 
and it will be pleasant for you to meet old friends, whom 
you have not seen for so long.” 

So, quite late — when Ada had been prepared for the 
night’s rest, that was only obtained now, by the use of opi- 
ates — Hugh took his way to Aspendale, through the moon- 
lit meadows, by the little footpath he had trod so often 
in his happy boyhood, and bright young manhood. Ah, 
how changed — how different was his life, from what he 
had planned ! “Man proposes, but God disposes,” came 
with overwhelming force to his mirfd, as he walked slowly 
and sadly the well-remembered path. And now he saw, he 
knew his wife was dying ! Did the thought bring a throb 
of gladness to his heart, that at last, he would be free ? I 
have failed to paint truly the character of my hero, if the 
reader can imagine such a thing for a moment ! 

And to-night he and Elenor will look on each other’s 
faces for the first time since that trying ordeal in Balti- 


238 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


more. But surely they can meet calmly and indifferently 
now, time must have dimmed and deadened the love that 
once glowed with such fervor in the hearts of both ? It 
is only a poetic fancy that love cannot die — even 44 first 
and passionate love ” — as theirs had been ! Let them 
answer ! 

4c 4« :Jc 

The night was waning — it had been a quiet, pleasant 
gathering — Mrs. Stacey would not allow dancing, under 
the circumstances, and Ada’s condition weighed on the 
hearts of all. Elenor and Stacey Hamilton were prome- 
nading on the colonnade (the cousins were very fond of each 
other), having a little confidential talk, when Hugh came 
out to enjoy a cigar. He paused as he saw them, and 
would have retreated, but Elenor spoke, arresting his steps ; 
he turned, and replied to her indifferent remark about the 
beauty of the night, and then — led on by an impulse he 
could not resist — he said, 

44 Stacey, let me have the pleasure of your cousin’s 
society a little while, and you join the gayer party in the 
drawing-room.” As Stacey left them, he asked— 44 Does 
my cigar annoy you, Miss Elenor ?” 

4 4 Oh no, I rather like it in the open air,” replied 
Elenor. 

44 1 remember you used not to mind my smoking,” he 
said, then after a little silence — 44 Will you walk with me 
under the aspens, Elenor ?” 

44 The moonlight is certainly very tempting — but you 
will not appreciate it now, since you are a dignified, prosaic 
pater familias,” Elenor says lightly — for she saw he was 
strangely excited and felt his arm trembling, as she laid her 
hand within it. 

44 1 fear I shall appreciate it only too keenly to-night,” 
he made answer, 44 for it brings back so vividly, 4 the mem- 
ory of the past’ — do you remember that old song, Nellie — 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


239 


and how I loved to hear you sing it ? Little thinking it 
would one day be my fate to say so truly — 

* Yet, in that bitter cup now filled with sorrow — 

Is one sweet drop — the mem’ry of the past.’ ” 

“ 0 God ! to know that it is all that remains to me 
of happiness !” he continued passionately, as he led her 
out under the aspens, and into the night, that was so 
perfect a repetition of the never-to-be-forgotten one, that 
was a sweet, hidden memory in the heart of each. 

“ Hugh, Hugh ! how dare you talk so ! I will not listen 
to you — let us return ;” said Elenor, as soon as she could 
rouse herself from the shock his words had caused. 

“ Nellie, for God’s sake hear me for one moment ! I 
will never offend again — but you cannot know how I have 
longed all these years to say — 4 forgive me, and do not hate 
me for my weakness and seeming want of faith !’ and yet it 
was neither — for while I can never fully explain my posi- 
tion to you, I can truly say, that I never for a moment be- 
lieved the infamous falsehood — but I had lost heart and 
hope, and you were to blame for that, Nellie. Say that you 
forgive, and do not hate me, darling !” Oh, how he lin- 
gered on the sweet word, that he had said only in his heart 
all these miserable years ! 

There is nothing to forgive, Hugh, and I have never 
had an unkind, or hard thought towards you,” she replied, 
not checking this time his passionate outburst. 

“ Then you never loved me, Nellie, as I loved you — for 
you can be happy, while I — ” 

“ Take care, Hugh ! Let us change the subject, the past 
is a forbidden one to us. How is your wife, and my little 
pet ? Though Ada must be better, or you would not have 
left her to-night,” returned Elenor, trying thus to turn 
his thoughts, to the duty and reticence, he owed his wife 
and child — not without effect. 


240 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ Ada was comfortable, and insisted on my coming — 
little dreaming, I should so far forget mvself, and all I 
owe to her. G-od forgive me ! And may He forget me, 
if I so sin again ! But I shall be calmer, happier, now 
that I have spoken — and you have forgiven me, Elenor. I 
am ready to return.” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Hugh had given up all thought of returning with Stacey 
and Maud — for Robert had told him, what his own heart 
feared, that Ada would be with them but a few weeks 
longer, at most — but the end came sooner than even Dr. 
Brent had anticipated. 

It was the day before Stacey and Maud Hamilton had 
fixed for their departure, and Ada insisted that they, and 
the families from Aspendale and the Hall, with Winnie — 
Robert’s bride-elect — should spend it at Roselawn ; as she 
could not go to them. Her father remonstrated — fearing 
the excitement, in her weak state — but she pleaded — 

“ Let me see them all together once more, dear papa — 
it -is the last time ; and I want to take each dear face with 
me when I go — Robert’s winsome bride, that is to be, and 
May’s future husband, I feel she will be happy with Stacey. 
Let me have my way in this, as you have always done, 
papa — it will not hurt me, I think,” and the sorrowing old 
man, could not find it in his heart to oppose her longer. 

“ Anything,” he said to himself, “ that will give her a 
moment’s pleasure — though it hasten the end.” 

And so they all came. Ada had not seen Elenor and 
Hugh together, except for a few moments one day, when 
the former came to make her excuses for not visiting the 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VINO. 241 

invalid, as often as she had done, before her cousins’ 
arrival. 

“ You know, dear,” she had said on that occasion, 
“ I am quite occupied in trying to make a country visit, 
endurable- to my citv-bred cousins, but they will soon be 
gone, and I shall be at your service — you have only to say, 
4 come.’ ” 

44 Thank you, dear friend — you are very kind ; yes, let 
me see you as often as possible, when they are gone— I have 
not long to be with you,” replied the gentle sufferer. Ele- 
nor promised, kissed her good-by, and left her. Hugh, on 
some pretext had gone out, very soon after Elenor entered 
the room — so until this re-union day, Ada had not seen 
them in each other’s society. And she could not help 
observing — what perhaps a less interested person would 
not have noticed — how they each strove to appear calm 
and indifferent, yet failed utterly ; and the thought would 
intrude — 44 1 shall not stand between them long !” It was 
a bitter reflection ; and pierced the poor loving heart with 
a keen pang — she had loved him so ! aye, as devotedly, 
perhaps more unselfishly, than the woman whose love, had 
been repaid tenfold ! We must pardon the natural, hu- 
man weakness, she had not yet quite overcome — even 
though she knew she was passing away from earth’s loves, 
and its jealousies — the knowledge that her husband, her 
darling ! would soon be free to love another, was more than 
she could bear ! 

Yet on the whole, the day passed pleasantly — in a sub- 
dued, quiet way. The two pair of lovers were much to 
themselves — making sly excuses to haunt solitary nooks 
and corners ; but at last, they were all gathered in Ada’s 
room to say farewell, and brought vividly to her mind the 
long parting so soon to take place between her, and all she 
held dear in this world ! 

Stacey Hamilton took her hand — he knew it was for 


242 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING . 


the last time — his beloved May’s dear, only sister, and 
strong young man that he was, emotion choked his utter- 
ance. Ada raised herself in bed, excitement gave her 
strength — “ Be kind to my sweet May — love her always, 
Stacey. God bless you ! and may we meet, where parting 
is no more !” It was all she could say — Stacey bent and 
kissed the pallid lips, too much moved to reply ; and as 
he laid her gently back on her pillow, the red, life-blood 
gushed in a stream from her lips, and she swooned away. 
All was consternation ! Her father, hearing the screams, 
hastened to her room — what a sight met his gaze ! 

“ Run for Robert !” he managed to gasp — “ I can do 
nothing,” and he sank into a chair by her bedside, and 
took her hand, to assure himself that life was not yet ex- 
tinct. Hugh had stood “like one to marble turned ” — 
looking on at the ghastly work of death — helpless, speech- 
less ! 

“ Go, Hugh, you will be quicker than anyone else,” it 
was Elenor who spoke ; her voice roused him from his 
stupor, and he sped like lightning out of the house, and 
found Robert at the office, preparing to visit some of his 
patients — but he was soon hastening with Hugh, to the 
dying cousin, who was still very dear to him. 

Elenor, calmer than the rest, was at Ada’s bedside, 
wiping the pale lips, from which the blood still oozed 
slowly. 

“ Robert, save her ! she is not dead, she must not die, 
my darling !” mourned the stricken father, as Dr. Brent 
entered the room, and began to apply the usual restora- 
tives ; telling aunt Mary to clear the room of everyone, 
except herself and Dr. Singleton. 

“She must have air — raise a window, please, Miss El- 
enor — and you might remain also, for I know your great 
self-control."” 

Mrs. Lillian led her brother into the library, and they 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 243 

wept in each other’s arms. “ 0 Hugh ! my poor brother, 
how shall I comfort you ?” 

“ Lily, we have killed her ! you and I — poor martyred 
saint — God forgive us !” 

“ Hugh, Hugh ! hush ! would you kill me too ? Do 
not make me more unhappy than I am — take back those 
cruel words !” exclaimed his sister. 

“ Forgive me, Lily, I am crazed with remorse, and know 
not what I say. 0 God ! lay not this sin to our charge !” 

“ Hugh, do not reproach yourself or me ; did we not 
act for her best happiness, as we thought ? then why blame 
ourselves ? I do not think, under any circumstances, Ada 
would have lived long — her mother died of consumption, 
you know.” 

“ Yes, I know — but if I could have made her happy, 
she might have been spared many years, and 1 did try — 0 
Lily ! how hard, none but God will ever know !” 

I know it, my brother, I know you could not fail to 
do your whole duty to the wife you promised at the altar 
to love and cherish — so do not reproach yourself— be com- 
forted ; God knows what is best for her, and for you.” 

“ I must go and see her, Lily — she may want me, I will 
try to be calm.” 

Slowly Ada came out of the death-like swoon ; too feeble 
at first to speak, she turned her eyes about the room, as if 
searching for some one she did not see. “It is Hugh,” 
said Elenor, “I will go for him.” 

She met him at the door. “ Ada has revived, and wants 
you, I think,” she said, as she passed out and joined her 
aunt Lillian in the library. Hugh went up to the bedside 
of his dying wife, and taking her thin hand — already cold, 
with the chill his loving clasp could not warm — he bent his 
head beside her pillow, and wept silently. 

“ Don’t, Hugh — do not weep for me, dear love — I shall 
soon be — at rest,” she murmured brokenly. 


244 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


“ Hugh, try to be calm — do not excite her again said 
Robert, “it is the day’s excitement that has done this. 
Ada, dear cousin, will you not let Hugh go now, and try 
to sleep ?” 

“ 0 Robert !” — I have so little time — I cannot waste it 
— in sleep,” she pleaded 

“But, darling, you will be better in the morning, if you 
will rest now, and try to sleep— then you shall talk as much 
as you wish,” urged her fond father. 

"“Papa — another day will never dawn — forme — I have 
much to say; — stay with me, Hugh.” 

“ I will, dear — I will,” he faltered. 

“ Robert, let her have her way — it cannot change the 
issue,” whispered Dr. Singleton. 

“ Papa, I would be alone with Hugh — while I have 
strength — leave me awhile, dear ones. Aunt Mary, ask 
Lily and Elenor — not to go away to-night.” She seemed 
strangely calm and composed, now that she felt the end so 
near. 

The short January day was closing in — like her life ; 
and upon that last sacred interview, during its twilight 
hours, we will not intrude. When Hugh came out, to 
order lights, and go in search of Elenor — whom she had 
asked to see — on his face rested a new peace, and in his 
eyes, a light and radiance, as though he had caught and 
held, something of the glory within the gates ajar, to 
receive her pure spirit ! 

“ Dear Elenor — I have sent for you to talk on a subject 
upon which our lips have long been sealed,” said Ada 
feebly, after Elenor had taken a chair by her bed, and 
asked with tender solicitude how she was feeling, “ but 
there is no longer any need that a veil should be drawn over 
our hearts — let all be made plain — ” she paused, as if reluc- 
tant even then, to speak the next words : “ Elenor, Hugh 
loves you still, and you love him — ” 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


245 


“ 0 Ada ! dear friend, do not talk of that — do not make 
us both unhappy, by reverting to the past,” pleaded Elenor. 

44 It does not make me unhappy now, dear — it has 
done so — but that is over. I shall soon be where there is 
4 no marrying or giving in marriage ’ — and I am content— I 
can die happy, if I know that you will take the place, that 
should have been yours — and yours only — when I am gone. 
Be a tender mother to my precious child, dear Elenor — 
never let her miss, or forget her mother — passed into the 
skies — talk to her of me sometimes, and tell her how I 
loved her — will you promise, Elenor ?” 

“ I promise, dear Ada, and may God so deal with me, 
as I deal with your darling !” replied Elenor, as audibly 
as she could for her sobs — for she was deeply moved.” 

44 Thank you, dear friend — I know you will keep your 
promise — seal it with a kiss — then tell them to bring my 
child — let her face be the last on which my fading sight 
shall linger, that if in Heaven I find some sweet, unmoth- 
ered babe, like her — I’ll ask the good Shepherd to let me 
tend the little lamb, and cheat my heart with thinking, 
’tis my own.” 

They brought the sleeping child ; and as they laid her 
in the loving arms — whose clasp was growing faint, and 
fainter — she murmured — 4 4 Do not take her from me again 
— let me die with her in my arms — 44 Ah me, my baby, my 
blossom, ah, my child ! My one sweet child, whom I shall 
see no more !’* and so she slept — the dear ones watching. 

E’er the morning' dawned, she passed so gently from 
the natural sleep, to that which knows no waking, that the 
sad watchers would have been unconscious of the change, 
had not Robert — who at the moment was sitting with nis 
finger on the flickering pulse — said as he left his seat by 
her death-couch, 44 She sleeps her last sleep — may she sleep 
well — poor, tired heart !” 

There was no noisy outburst of grief, to disturb the 


246 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


holy quiet of the dawn — the bitterness of death had passed. 
Gently they removed the sleeping babe, from the arms that 
would nevermore enfold her in this world, and reverently 
they robed the loved form for its last resting-place among 

“ The innumerable caravan, which moves 
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death.” 

* * * * * * * 

Stacey Hamilton telegraphed the sad news to his father 
— and also, that he and his sister would remain until after 
the funeral. On the sad days that followed we need not 
linger. In each sorrowing heart there was hope of a happy 
re-union, and the comforting reflection that it was better, 
far better for their beloved ! Each knew intuitively, that 
her life had not brought the happiness she coveted — and 
felt, it was better so ; in Heaven, every longing would be 
satisfied — their darling would be at rest ! 

“ And thus forever, throughout this wide world, 

Is love a sorrow proving, 

There are still many sorrowful things in life. 

But the saddest of all. is loving. 

The life of some is worse than death, 

For fate a high wall oft raises — 

And far better than life, with two hearts estranged. 

Is a low grave, starred with daisies.” 




CHAPTER XXXVII. 


Another year has passed, and our story is drawing to 
its close. Dr. Singleton did not long survive his dear 
Ada, and several months have now elapsed since they laid 
him to rest, beside the two he loved best on earth. May is 
alone — no, not alone ; though father and sister both have 
left her, she is not comfortless — she knows there is one , 
dearer yet than all others, who is still left to her — and 
Ada’s little girl makes sunshine in her mother’s home, and 
gladdens with her childish prattle, the sad hearts at Rose- 
lawn. 

Hugh, in his lonely home, has not been idle, or entirely 
miserable : — -true, he misses wife and child, and mourns the 
former truly and sincerely — recalling many points of 
beauty and excellence in her character, not wholly appreci- 
ated. when living. And he often thought with keen regret 
of his inability to give the full meed of love, the poor faith- 
ful heart coveted — but he did not suffer himself to dwell 
morbidly on the past — the future beckoned with its pleas- 
ing hopes — his sweet, shattered dream might yet become a 
reality ; and though no word or sign, has passed between 
him and Elenor, they each knew the other was — only 
waiting . 

******* 

Stacey and Robert, will not be put off any longer, and 
so May and Winnie are to be married the same night. The 
entire Hamilton family are to be present, and Hugh is 
coming too, for the first time since the death of his wife. 

It was a beautiful and touching sight— the double mar- 
riage of the two sweet girls, and happy handsome bride- 
( 247 ) 


248 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LO VING. 


grooms, in the little village church ; and as they followed 
the rector in the solemn and impressive ceremony, prayers 
and good wishes, went up from every heart, that the lives 
so blended here — in love and sweet companionship — might 
be re-united in Heaven ! They all repaired to Roselawn, 
after the service, where the evening passed quietly, but 
pleasantly with the now so closely united families, and a 
few intimate friends. Among these, was Temple Gwynn. 
who it was quite evident, was most happy to renew, and 
improve his acquaintance with Maud Hamilton — who grew 
more and more like her cousin (and his dear friend) Elenor 
— in appearance and character — and who, of course, he 
admired exceedingly, as after events showed. 

Hugh was all impatience, until he could see Elenor 
alone ; for she, with her usual unselfishness, had been so 
engaged in assisting the fair brides — who thought no ar- 
rangement of their toilets exactly au fait , until it had 
been pronounced so by her — that he had felt quite ignored : 
but the long- hoped-for, the supreme, crowning moment 
had come at last !” 

“ 0 my darling ! my love ! are you really my own 
again f and do you love me now as then ? Tell me that 
your love has not grown cold all these weary years !” mur- 
mured Hugh, as he folded to his eager longing heart in a 
frantic embrace, the woman he loved with an almost idola- 
trous love, as though he feared even now, something would 
again interpose to separate them. 

Elenor was almost frightened at his vehemence, and 
found no word to say in her silent, overpowering emotion. 
“ Speak, darling ! must I lose you now ? 0 God ! I could 

not bear it ! and I will never leave you again, Elenor, until 
we are bound together so fast, that naught but death can 
sever us !” 

“Nothing but death,” echoed Elenor, “I am yours, 
dear Hugh — now and forever !” and she buried her face in 


TEE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


249 


the fond, faithful bosom in an ecstasy of .sweet content, 
that compensated for all the bitter past. 

“ I shall not return without you, my darling, my 
bride V he said, when he had in some measure, lavished 
the long- repressed tenderness and affection of his heart, in 
every pet name and sweet caress, known in the calender of 
Love. “So you must at once see about that momentous 
affair — your trousseau ; I will give you two weeks of grace 
— no more, and that is an age, to a man who has waited — 
so long.” 

“ 0 Hugh ! so soon ? I could not have a trousseau pre- 
pared in that time.” 

“ Yes, dear, you can order everything you wish sent 
from New York to Baltimore — so when we reach there, it 
will be ready. You will only require here, a simple white 
dress to be married in, for we will leave the next morning 
for our home — 0 darling, think of it ! is not the thought 
sweet ? Our home /” 

And so it was settled. No one was surprised — in fact, 
had wondered rather, that Hugh waited so long. Mrs. 
Hamilton decided to remain until after her niece’s mar- 
riage, before she returned to Baltimore, and the happy 
couples were to run down for a short bridal tour to “ tne 
land of flowers.” 

“ Now, Miss Elenor,” pleaded May and Winnie, “please 
don’t change your mind, and get married before we re- 
turn.” 

“No danger of that, you silly children— I do not like 
hurrying matters up so, anyway ; but Hugh will not lis- 
ten to reason, and aunt Ellen is urging me too,” says 
Elenor demurely. 

“ Oh, I wish you would be married at once and go with 
us to Florida — please, cannot you, brother Hugh ?” 

“I suppose we could, May, but it takes two to make 
a bargain — ask her ?” and Hugh smiled as he looked at 


250 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


Elenor — who appeared not to hear, while she played with 
Lily May’s golden curls, as the child leaned on her lap, 
prattling in her childish fashion — but presently she looked 
up, and said — 

•• Why, May, I think three newly married pairs, would 
be more than the impassioned people of sunny Florida 
could stand — beside, I do not care to serve as a foil to such 
youthful brides, as you and Winnie.” 

“ 0 Miss Elenor ! as if anyone in the form of woman, 
would dare to think of rivalling you ! ” exclaimed her loyal 
admirer — Winnie Brent. 

“ Of course not,” returned May, “ but then we might 
hope to shine in her reflected glory, if she would go with 
us.” 

“ It is well your two lords are not present to hear you 
casting a reflection , on the brightness of their jewels,” 
laughed Hugh. 

“ I think they would admit,” said Winnie, “ that there 
are greater and lesser lights, and still be content with their 
stars of the second magnitude — because they shine for 
them — eh. May ?” 

“ I think so — but let us look after our truants. I have 
no idea of being deserted so long, at this early date, for 
their after-dinner cigars.” 

This conversation took place in the parlor at Aspendale 
— the day after the wedding — where a family party had 
dine’d with the newly married — to-morrow they were ofl: 
for Florida. 

******* 

Two weeks after, Elenor and Hugh were quietly mar- 
ried at the Hall — Col. Stacey, (her more than father) giv- 
ing away the bride. Only the relations, and Temple 
Gwynn, were present — but Elenor looked lovely enough, 
in her pure India muslin, to have graced a coronet ; her 
only ornament was a diamond broach — the gift of her uncle 


THE SADDEST OF ALL LS LOVING. 


251 


Fred — that sparkled at her throat, where it clasped the 
filmy lace that encircled the high beautifully fitting cor- 
sage — whose transparent folds, softened, but did not wholly 
conceal the finely moulded neck and arms. And none of 
her friends felt that she lacked more costly attire, and all 
rejoiced, that at last, she and Hugh were united — until 
death ! 

Dr. Brent and Winnie were left sole occupants of Rose- 
lawn — as he had bought Hugh’s and May’s interest in the 
place — for aunt Mary was to make her home with May — 
the newer tie, of the little Lily May, also drawing her 
where she could be near the child — to whom she was much 
devoted. 

For Hugh had determined to have his little girl in his 
own home, for the future, and was glad that aunt Mary 
would not be entirely separated from her. The two fami- 
lies at Aspendale and the Hall were quite sad (especially 
her dearly loved guardian and his wife) at losing their dear 
niece — but Mrs. Eveline had been gladdened by the birth 
of a fine boy, now several months old, and Maud and Wat- 
tie were growing more companionable to their parents — so 
they were not left entirely without compensation, in their 
loss of Elenor, and they all loved her too unselfishly not to 
rejoice in her happiness. 

Some over-scrupulous reader may ask — “ Did Mrs. Fred 
Stacey continue a Roman Catholic ?” This much I know 
— that Col. Stacey left his wife free, in her religion — hop- 
ing, perhaps, that she would gradually shake off its fetters 
voluntarily. And as there is no Catholic church nearer 
than the city of A >, Mrs. Stacey attends the Episco- 

pal church regularly with her husband, and seems quite 
happy and content in its worship — so that I think he has 
great reason to wait patiently, and to hope. 

******* 

As the years went by, other children came to bless 


252 


THE SADDEST OF ALL IS LOVING. 


Hugh’s home, yet his heart ever turned with greater ten- 
derness, and his voice took a gentler tone, towards Ada’s 
child — his blue-eyed, golden-haired Lily May. As for 
Elenor — she did not love her own dark-eyed little gypsies 
more fondly — aye, truly did she fulfil her promise to the 
dead mother ! 

Yet she often wondered, and regretted too, that neither 
of her children resembled their father — but so it was ; they 
were both — boy and girl — like her ; while the only perfect 
counterpart of him she loved with a daily increasing affec- 
tion, was Ada’s little daughter ! 

And as the child grows into girlhood, she is becoming 
Elenor’s greatest comfort ; and strangers observe the devo- 
tion of Mrs. Legare to that sweet, gentle, eldest daughter 
— and have no need to ask — 

‘ Whose child is this ? 

The gesture saying so tenderly, c my own.’ ” 

And Hugh ? Did his life lack aught now ? Was there 
still a yearning after something he had missed ? Ah, no ! 
he is happy at last — every longing is satisfied — “ the love 
of his wife encompassed him, and the shadows of the past 
faded away !” 


THE END. 


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